#confederate spring

[bethlehem-garden]

Viola sororia f. priceana, commonly known as the Confederate violet, requires partial to full shade and moist, well-draining soil. It should be planted in early spring or early fall, with a spacing of about 8 to 10 inches between each plant, but it can also be found wild and may be invasive in some areas. A beautiful variant of the Common Blue Violet, this flower is gorgeous in border plantings and edges.

[rebeccathenaturalist]

This is a big deal. No, $48,692.05 is in no way, shape or form a fair price for the many thousands of acres of traditional Chinook land that were never ceded but were taken by settlers anyway. However, the fact that this funding from the 1970 Indian Claims Commission settlement is being released to the tribe is the strongest move toward regaining recognition in years.

As a bit of background, the Chinook Indian Nation are some of the descendants of many indigenous communities who have lived in the Columbia-Pacific region and along the Columbia to the modern-day Dalles since time immemorial. They saw the arrival of the Lewis & Clark party to the Pacific Ocean in 1805, but shortly thereafter were devastated by waves of diseases like malaria and smallpox. The survivors signed a treaty to give up most of their land in 1851, but it was never ratified by the United States government. While some Chinookan people are currently part of federally recognized tribes such as the Yakama Nation, the Confederated Tribes of the Warm Springs Reservation, and the Confederated Tribes of the Grand Ronde Reservation, the Chinook Indian Nation--comprised of the Lower Chinook, Clatsop, Cathlamet, Willapa, and Wahkiakum--have remained largely unrecognized.

That changed briefly in 2001. On January 3 of that year, the Department of the Interior under the Clinton administration formally recognized the Chinook Indian Nation. In July 2002, the Bush administration revoked the federal recognition after complaints from the Quinault Indian Nation, as the Chinook would have had access to certain areas of what is now the Quinault reservation. This meant that the Chinook, once again, were denied funding and other resources given to federally recognized tribes, to include crucial healthcare funding during the COVID-19 pandemic.

The Chinook Indian Nation has been fighting legal battles to regain federal recognition ever since the revocation. The funding released to them in this month's court decision doesn't make them federally recognized, but it is a show of legitimacy in a tangled, opaque system that indigenous people across the United States have had to contend with for many decades. Here's hoping this is a crack in the wall keeping the Chinook from recognition, and that they get more good news soon.

[madnessr]

Vagabond

Vagabond — wandering from place to place without any settled home

Poly Lost Boys x GN Reader Synopsis: Forgiveness is a fickle thing. When four souls find each other, the world finds its equilibrium once more; until the absence of another tips the scale forever. What happens when a familiar face shows itself back at the boardwalk after twenty years of absence?

Warnings: slight angst, lots of historical information in the beginning

Word Count: 3k

By issuing the Declaration of Independence, adopted by the Continental Congress on July 4th, 1776, the 13 American colonies severed their political connections to Great Britain. 

You had been ten during the conflicts between America and Great Britain, young and impressionable. Your family came with Puritans, who set sail to America back in 1630. Unlike the Pilgrims, who had left ten years earlier, the Puritans did not break with the Church of England but sought to reform it. All that happened before you were born; your ancestors had settled down and spread their roots into American soil. 

You recalled little of the American Revolution; after all, you were very young back then, but you remember December 15th, 1791, vividly. Your mother couldn't stop crying that day, and your father had pulled out the oldest whiskey they had that day. America was finally severed from the tyrannical rule of George III. 

You came to understand the significance of those dates more as you aged, growing into a strong individual as you helped your family on their farm. You never intended to marry; it wasn't something you had ever desired or looked forward to. The same year you had gotten married was the day you lost your immortality; both events are related but not necessarily connected. You were introduced to the vampiric community in New Orleans, a city that used the day to sleep off the mistakes you made throughout the rambunctious night. 

You had lived through the formation of the Constitution of the United States of America in 1787 when the founding fathers sought to implement more structure into the now independent country. 

The infamous whiskey rebellion. American drunks apparently were not too keen about Alexander Hamilton implementing a liquor tax to try and raise money for the national debt; asserting the federal government's power back in 1794. 

Only nine years later, the Louisiana Purchase happened in 1803. The small land purchase for only $27 million created room for the states of Louisiana, Missouri, Arkansas, Iowa, North Dakota, South Dakota, Nebraska, and Oklahoma, along with most of Kansas, Colorado, Wyoming, Montana, and Minnesota.

Throughout the 1810s and 1830s, you had moved on from New Orleans and left for New York, seeking human connections and reconnecting with the younger generations. During that time, the Battle of New Orleans in 1815 and the Monroe Doctrine in 1823 seemed to fly past you. 

Then, signed on February 2nd, 1848, the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo finally brought closure to the Mexican-American war. At this time, you were no stranger to political conflicts anymore, and the stench of blood and sweat staining battlefields was, unfortunately, no stranger. 

Life moved on regardless, no matter the horrid realities life provided. For a short while, life had finally come to a stand-still, guns tucked away as the world in America resumed its development. Until April 12th, 1861, Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in South Carolina's Charleston Harbor at 4:30 A.M., A day that changed America forever, the beginning of the American Civil War. 

The Emancipation Proclamation, The First Conscription Act, The Battle of Chancellorsville, The Vicksburg Campaign, The Gettysburg Campaign, The Battle of Chickamauga, The Battle of Chattanooga, The Siege of Knoxville. The list continued, and the coppery smell of wasted humanity tainted the air, the wind carrying the cries of victims throughout the nation. 

The war ended in the Spring of 1865. Robert E. Lee surrendered the last major Confederate army to Ulysses S. Grant at Appomattox Courthouse on April 9th, 1865.

The number of soldiers who died throughout those four years eventually got estimated to be around 620,000.

Only 47 years later, on July 28th, 1914, the Austrian Archduke Franz Ferdinand was assassinated, beginning the cruel trench warfare of World War I. In early April 1917, America aided the effort to join a war to end all wars. You had entered the war effort, like everyone capable at the time; from soldiers to nurses, everyone gave aid. 

On November 11th, 1918, the war ended. Although the Allies won, you found no reason to celebrate. Not when mothers sold their homes since there wasn't a reason to have a multiple-bedroom house anymore, when graveyards overflowed with the dead, when people mourned their losses, when mothers' only answer to their missing sons was a notice declaring their child missing in action. 

The stock market crashed in 1929, kicking off the Great Depression that would last for more than a decade. 

On September 1st, 1939, Germany invaded Poland. Kicking off World War II and beginning one of the most brutal warfare's, Blitzkrieg. On May 8th, 1945, Germany surrendered. After the atomic bomb was dropped on Hiroshima and Nagasaki, Japan surrendered on September 2nd, 1945, and the Second World War came to an end.

The war ended, and the surviving soldiers returned with missing limbs and broken spirits. You were a firm believer that humans were not meant to witness so much death; it tainted them; it dulled them. Although you were a vampire, a creature supposedly made for horror, you could not forget what you had witnessed in only the span of 21 years. 

You were 201 years old now, relatively young in the grand scheme of time, but you had lived through a few of the greatest horrors the world had ever seen. 

189 years of traversing the lands, you watched grow in a desperate search to find one of your own. Since you were turned and left New Orleans, you had not met a single vampire. You watched with sorrowful wisdom in your eyes as the world passed through you, virginity in people's expressions you wish you had. A gaze untainted by warfare, civil unrest, and brutality. 

Although you have met the occasional human to brighten your own world, it did not cure you. Your search was desolate—fruitless. 

Your feet had carried you to Santa Carla, the year now being 1963, and just as the five stages of grief had settled on acceptance. You bumped into a group of four rambunctious bikers that would change your life forever. That had been the first time you had met, and you had continued to live together, going on to live through the Civil Rights movement and grieving the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr.

But on August 12th, 1967, you left Santa Carla. Your absence is only justified by a delicately written letter standing in your place. You had grown to love the boys, but you had lived differently compared to them. 

Marko and Paul were younger vampires than you, having been turned while The Great Depression was bulldozing America. Dwanye had been older, abandoning his immortality in the 18th century along with David. All of them possessed the innate ability to move on from the past, a talent you, unfortunately, did not possess. 

No matter how hard you tried, you could not find peace or excitement in the future. The uncertainty corrupted you, tormented you and your experiences, so you left. Not with the intent to abandon but to sort out whatever you had to sort out. Away from the prying eyes of those you loved, those who you did not want—couldn't disappoint.  

Santa Carla, the town you had never been able to forget. It was 1987 now; twenty years had passed since you had seen the four vampires. You had missed them—a melancholic weight having nestled its way into your heart ever since you left. You regretted the way you had left through a simple letter. A cowardly move; you were wise enough to understand that. But at the time, you couldn't bring yourself to say it to them. How could you? Look someone in the eyes, someone like you—your own pack that never did anything but love you—and tell them you were leaving? 

You didn't have the heart, and if you were a little more honest, you didn't have it now, either. But you missed them more than your hurt pride by walking what felt like a walk of shame as you wandered around the busy boardwalk. One thing you never could get used to was the constant shift in fashion, it felt like the ins became the outs overnight, and you never were able to keep up with it. 

Bright colors were the most fashionable now, with teased hair and loud makeup. You enjoyed it, your knowing eyes watching over the crowd. The smell of hairspray permeated the air, wafting towards you as you passed people. Bulky and oversized clothes were spotted throughout the crowds, some men and women wearing specific member-only jackets. Ah, it seems the surfer nazis still haven't given up on Santa Carla yet. 

The amusement park was new; back in 1867, the boardwalk had small shops littered around—like a market. Originally it mostly sold food and groceries, fish caught fresh from the sea, and farmers selling their produce. 

How has the pier changed so significantly? If it wasn't for the bold, attention-seeking sign that said Santa Carla Boardwalk; you would've thought you were at the wrong address. But stepping on those old wooden floorboards of the pier that occasionally creaked or sunk under your feet was an all too familiar feeling. The smell of salt, rotting seaweed that had washed onto the shore, and the fresh street food made you feel all too at home. 

It felt like you had never really left. 

Your appearance had changed quite a bit since you left Santa Carla, so you didn't expect either the boys or Max to really recognize you. But although you were willing to stay under the radar for the boys, Max was another story. He was a head vampire, a coven leader, and therefore needed to be notified of your presence. 

Entering Max's video store made you feel nostalgic, the same old grimy bell still hanging atop the doorframe signaling your arrival; you had been the one to put that there to originally annoy Max. You were surprised he kept it. The wooden floorboards and furniture gave off a distinct, homey smell. You had been there when the store was built, and the shiny coating across the floors now had grown mat, occasional wood panels brighter in color than before. 

"I never thought I'd meet the day I saw you walk through those doors again." 

Turning around, you met the stern gaze of Max. His outfit made you smile, a desperate attempt at blending in with the crowd. Max was always a stickler for blending in; if he had no intention of turning you; you had no business knowing who; or rather what, he was. 

"It's good to see you." 

"I'm flattered, but I doubt that I am the sole reason you returned." Max always carried that knowing tone, as if he's watched out every move you'd make before you made them. It reminded you that Max had a coven before the boys and you, one he rarely conversed about. Perhaps Max really had seen this turn out before, but analyzing that surprised expression, you could only assume who had left never did come back. 

"How right you are," You sighed, shoulders dropping as you hopped onto the cashier counter. It was before opening, meaning you and Max had some time to chat privately. 

"Twenty years is a long time," Max hummed, a low and almost chiding tone. "What made you come back?" 

"To us, it isn't," You weakly argued back. The cumbersome feeling, or rather an awareness that you were in the wrong, was nearly unbearable. You were smart enough to understand that denial was a fruitless endeavor, and yet you couldn't help but let those desperate attempts escape you. 

"For people waiting for you, it's an eternity." Max sighed in a calm but chiding tone. Although Max never did have to scold you the way he did with the boys, from not committing arson to preventing fights. Max instead focused his guidance towards you on a more emotional level, the morality; a bit ironic being taught by a vampire—but he did his best. 

You glanced outside, through the glass walls of Max's shop, watching the bustling crowd pass you. Twenty years to a vampire was nothing, but somehow the short span of time felt arduous. Why did you come back?

"I never intended on staying away forever. I knew that when the time was right, I'd return." You explained, stealing a quick glance at Max. The older man had a frown etched onto his face, eyebrows furrowed as his own gaze lingered on the rambunctious humans outside. So unaware of the constant and unrelenting passage of time. It was cruel to be immortal; the passage of time no longer hindered you. But emotions are bendable and are the only aspect of ourselves that remains from who we were. Emotions were mortal. 

"Santa Carla has changed, Y/N. It is not what you left behind; they are not the same as they were alongside you." Max recalled, his voice disapproving. 

You knew Max was correct; you knew deep in your wrenching and twisting gut. You jumped off the counter, your feet hitting the floor like gravity had shifted around you, sinking your body into the floor. "I know," you knew; perhaps the boys didn't even want to see you; they could curse you out and send your name to hell for all eternity. They deserved to do it too. 

But they loved you once, and perhaps you can't help shake the feeling that they might love you again this time too. 

Max sighed, walking over to his front door and twisting the closed sign around, and pronouncing the store now open. Each tap of his foot, synced with his steps, was like a thundering echo inside you. It prompted you to get up and to provide closure for the others. You reach the door, opening midway before Max leaves you with some parting advice. 

"I hope you find what you came here for, Y/N. But the time might be right for you now, but it might not be for them."

You nodded, not looking back as you walked out of the store. The air was warmer, humid from the ocean breeze mixing into the air, the notorious assassin for any styled and teased hair due.

Laughter was one of your favorite sounds. As cliche as that might sound, it felt rejuvenating to hear. Whether it was a loud cackle mimicking the call of a hyena or a high-pitched wheeze or whistle. There was a beauty in people's expressions, how their noses tended to scrunch up, or how others held their stomachs and nearly doubled over. Laughter was infectious, and you loved observing the dopamine spread to others. Strangers connecting over a similar sense of joy; there was a beauty in it. 

The boardwalk was filled with it, people brushing shoulders against shoulders as they walked. Groups cackling and shoving each other as they enjoyed the youngness of the evening. Music booming from different directions, punks blasting the newest rap or metal music, hippies tuning out to a gentle jam, but the loudest seemed to be a distant concert down the boardwalk and closer to the pier. Like a bee sensing some honey, you followed. Dodging the occasional passerby, ducking out of the way from shop owners lugging their merchandise around. 

The music got louder, and a small thread of excitement seemed to push you further, faster. Your small stroll transformed into a quickened step, your ears guiding you and your eyes following the crowd. The music was loud; a tight smosh-like pit had formed before the stage where people grind and brushed against each other to the beat of the music. 

Looking around, you scanned the faces of teenagers and young adults. There was an eager but dreaded nervousness to your gaze at the thought of seeing a face that looked familiar. But it wasn't your eyes that caught their presence, but rather your sense of smell. 

 Copper. 

Although it was harder to pick up when the wind stills its prancing, the occasional breeze led you further towards the pier. Away from the smosh pit, and where people stood to enjoy the music but not risk getting mulled over by a hormonal teenager. 

There they stood, strikingly familiar. Although some of the fashion had changed, most of their originality stayed intact. That tiny red flag tied around Dwayne's waist was something the two of you had stolen from a stingy bar owner back in 1964; Markos jacket still had all too familiar patches sewn into its denim fabric; Paul still wore those bracelets you gave him, and David wore the most prominent reminder of you, his oversized coat. 

The wind picked up around you, a cold and mocking breeze flowing through your hair and betraying your presence to the four men you had left behind all those years ago. One by one, heads lifted, smiling ceased, and laughter died. Although you had spent years preparing yourself for this moment, nothing felt so gut-wrenchingly real than standing before them. 

How do you look someone in the eyes after you've abandoned them?

How do you move past that moment when the world around you stills and halts. When you lose yourself in the blear of the world when mortality reaches its hand around your heart and squeezes. A vice-like grip, a feeling blooming within your chest so heavy–so unspeakable. When you see those eyes, recognize the sorrow behind them and realize you were the perpetrator. You were the one who put that agony, that sadness there.

The burden of your actions ties itself around your throat like a noose, tight and unyielding, as you realize the cruelty was done by none other than yourself. And there is no way, in any shape or form, you could reverse the damage you've done. Pain is immortal, it might yield to its throbbing, but it never forgets. 

A world with your boys back in 1967 exists now only in your memory. The four men, cold as the autumn waters, were your reality now. 

"Hello, boys."

[kemetic-dreams]

What happened to colored troops taken POW by Confederates in the Civil War?

Three-fifths of all African troops in the Union army were former slaves and those that fought in combat units did so at great risk to their lives (beyond the expected risks associated with combat). The Confederate government’s official position was that black POWs would be executed, reclaimed by their former masters or sold into slavery. Lincoln’s threats of reprisals helped minimize the impact of Confederate actions.

Details of the brutality African soldiers suffered are known, but with less specificity. We know of the multiple slaughters of surrendering or captured blacks that occurred. And, we know that armed Africans were the South’s worst nightmare as southerners were terrified that the example of these soldiers would “infect” the rest of the slave population and inspire them to take-up arms against their enslavers. In southern eyes, that alone warranted the harshest treatment for captured Africans.

What is clear is that these soldiers faced harsher and more cruel treatment at the hands of their captors than did their white counterparts. We know with clarity the physical violence that slaves suffered pre-war as well as after the war. Further, while 14% of Union prisoners died while being held as POWs and 11.8% of Confederate POWs died in northern captivity, historian Caroline Newhall notes that almost 35% of African POWs died in southern captivity. These data points converge with official Confederate statements and southern attitudes on slaves as property and provide strong evidence of the cruelty African Union soldiers faced.

Cruelty and atrocities against African Union soldiers were not random acts of war, but were legislated and directed by the Confederate Congress and Jefferson Davis himself.

In late 1862, Davis stated: “All negro slaves captured in arms be at once delivered over to the executive authorities of the respective States to which they belong.” A resolution later adopted by the Confederate Congress provided that all “negroes or mulattoes,” slave or free, taken in arms should be tried for inciting servile insurrection and be subject to the death penalty.

In a letter to General Beauregard on this issue, The Confederate Secretary of War pointed out that "Slaves in flagrant rebellion are subject to death by the laws of every slave-holding State" but that "to guard, however, against possible abuse...the order of execution should be reposed in the general commanding the special locality of the capture."

Lincoln responded to this by threatening to retaliate against Confederate prisoners whenever African soldiers were killed or enslaved.

Davis publicly denounced Lincoln’s order; but, it did have — for the most part — the desired effect, as most African prisoners were not treated with the harsh justice mandated by Confederate policy, even though the Confederacy never officially acknowledged African-Americans as P.O.W.’s. Instead, what emerged were inconsistent practices in dealing with captured African American troops, depending on the time, place and the commander into whose hands they fell. Indeed, some Confederate officers encouraged the killing of African-American soldiers rather than taking them prisoner, and the atrocities committed against surrendering African soldiers at Poison Spring, Fort Pillow and Petersburg are now well known.

If not executed, captured African soldiers often found themselves treated very differently from white prisoners. Instead of being confined to camps, many African-American prisoners were put to forced labor.

As Robert Jones, a African soldier captured at Milliken’s Bend, La., recalled, “They took me to … Rust, Tex., where they … had me at work doing every kind of work, loading steamboats, rebuilding breastworks, while I was in captivity.”

Near Fort Gilmer, Va., captured African troops were forced to work under enemy fire in the trenches. In retaliation, the Union general Benjamin F. Butler placed an equal number of Confederate P.O.W.’s on forward trenches. Within a week, the African prisoners were removed from the front lines.

The sentiment that Africans under arms aroused -- along with the ingrained hostility of many Confederate soldiers -- set the stage for wartime atrocities. The most notorious incident occurred at a small Federal outpost north of Memphis, Tennessee, where Confederate cavalrymen under Nathan Bedford Forrest attacked Fort Pillow, which was garrisoned by about 500 troops.

More than half of the soldiers were African. The superior Confederate force overwhelmed the fort's defenders; Union casualties were high. But after the Federals surrendered, Forrest's men shot and killed a number of unarmed soldiers and officers, both black and white.

In October 1864 Saltville, Virginia, Confederate soldiers executed unarmed African prisoners, even raiding a hospital on two separate occasions and murdering wounded Africans in their sickbeds.

High casualty rates in combat were also common for African American units — usually for two reasons. First, since Africans had not previously served in the military, they were inexperienced fighters. Second, feeling social pressure to prove themselves as men, they often took risks on the battlefield that their white counterparts would not.

But, despite facing intense racism and humiliating treatment from their own white colleagues in arms, Africans excelled in combat, providing an additional, critical edge in manpower to what the Union already possessed.

One Union captain explained the significance of African military participation on the attitudes of many white soldiers. "A great many [white people]," he wrote, "have the idea that the entire Negro race are vastly their inferiors. A few weeks of calm unprejudiced life here would disabuse them, I think. I have a more elevated opinion of their abilities than I ever had before. I know that many of them are vastly the superiors of those...who would condemn them to a life of brutal degradation."

Of the 180,000 African Americans who fought for the Union, 37,300 died. More than 20 African Americans were awarded the Congressional Medal of Honor, the nation's most prestigious military decoration. Fourteen of those men earned their medals at Chaffin's Farm.

[victorianpining]

Tentative Announcement!

Tentative because my spring semester hasn’t started yet, so I may be slightly underestimating my workload in the coming weeks (or overestimating it, you never know). But as of this moment, it is my intention to publish The Stories in Our Veins in daily installments throughout the month of February, beginning with the first and ending with the twenty-ninth (as good a day as any, Johnny).

Keep your eyes out for more teasers and updates throughout the month of January! For now, here is a preview of the fic description to whet your appetite 🍷

You hold in your hands a leather-bound book inscribed with the title The Stories in Our Veins. No author is named by the cover. On the first page, the following passage has been written in an elegant, cursive hand: A confederate who foresees your conclusions and course of action is always dangerous, but one to whom each development comes as a perpetual surprise, and to whom the future is always a closed book, is indeed an ideal helpmate. Sherlock Holmes in “The Adventure of the Blanched Soldier,” written by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle in 1926.

[emptymanuscript]

For whenever someone tries to get away from Slavery as the cause of the civil war or that Racism wasn’t the basis of the argument, it’s worth remembering this quote by Confederate Vice President Alexander H. Stephens, from his March 21, 1861, Cornerstone Speech, presenting the reasons for the fight.

Our new government is founded upon exactly the opposite idea; its foundations are laid, its corner-stone rests, upon the great truth that the negro is not equal to the white man; that slavery subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition. This, our new government, is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth. This truth has been slow in the process of its development, like all other truths in the various departments of science. It has been so even amongst us. Many who hear me, perhaps, can recollect well, that this truth was not generally admitted, even within their day. The errors of the past generation still clung to many as late as twenty years ago. Those at the North, who still cling to these errors, with a zeal above knowledge, we justly denominate fanatics. All fanaticism springs from an aberration of the mind from a defect in reasoning. It is a species of insanity. One of the most striking characteristics of insanity, in many instances, is forming correct conclusions from fancied or erroneous premises; so with the anti-slavery fanatics. Their conclusions are right if their premises were. They assume that the negro is equal, and hence conclude that he is entitled to equal privileges and rights with the white man. If their premises were correct, their conclusions would be logical and just but their premise being wrong, their whole argument fails.

It was Racism and Slavery. They said so. They meant it. Anything else is pure revisionism and mythology.

[spidersmiceandeverythingnice]

Oooo anyway I just remember why I Hate and Loathe the big High Lord meeting in ACOWAR and why it fully cements SJM in my Worst Authors category for like a billion reasons

1. Feyre refuses to bow to the Dawn Court. Weird choice and completely fucking awkward to read - I guess this is meant as some kind of Girlboss Moment - like "no, I won't bow to the stinky old fashioned MEN!!!! who run this world. My super hot boyfriend gave me this title and I'm the master of the universe now." But it's... childish. Also? Way to disrespect Thesan but this is going to become a pattern because of course the gay Asian High Lord has no special powers apart from super good healing that literally every other character can accomplish, and of course he's gentle, and passive (ultimately willing to "bow [to Rhysand] if the other [High Lords] will") and of course his lover has no name and never speaks. Great! Hate it.

2. Morrigan and Vivian. On paper this seems interesting as far as a relationship goes like - what kind of interesting Court relations did Night have pre Amarantha and can those bonds be salvaged? But instead of asking those questions the scene decides to immediately undercut Vivian's character as a badass general and warrior who defended Winter in her childhood friend/future husband's absence by making her squeal like a literal 13 year old when the Night Court - who is suspected of murdering 24 children - shows up. Vivian proceeds to throw a fit and snarks about wanting to be a High Lady. Rip Vivian we hardly knew ye.

3. Do I even need to talk about Helion being the worst bisexual rep. Do I even need to say it. Good lord.

4. Do I even need to talk about Fantasy China and Helion being allied with the Faerie Confederates. Do I even need to explain this. It gets worse, somehow!

5. Tamlin and Tarquin actually have a case against allying with the Night Court given literally everything that happened in the last two books but this isn't painted as reasonable distrust of a group of lying backstabbing sycophants who purposefully play up their cruelty and keep secrets from the other Courts. No, of course not. Tarquin immediately forgives the Night Court because he has no backbone whatsoever apparently. Tamlin is considered unreasonable for not trusting Feyre and Rhys, who have continuously tried to hurt him and his people and undermine his authority as High Lord.

6. Everyone immediately forgets that Rhysand worked for Amarantha for 50 years and distrusts Tamlin, who has worked for Hybern for all of five minutes and also brings tons of information on their troop movements and positions, confirming that all of his so called alliance was a fraud and he's been spying on them the whole time.

7. Literally the whole fucking deal with the Winter Court. Like I'm sorry that Rhys is so sexual traumatized by Amarantha but children fucking died in a horrible, gruesome way that now, nobody can be accountable for. This is on my top 3 of most egregious SJM retcons because I'm supposed to believe that some daemati we've never heard of before, is never mentioned or seen again, is supposedly the missing link to absolve Rhysand of the fact that he murdered 24 children in book one and devastated the Winter Court. Give me a fucking break. And Feyre gets so SAD and hurt when Rhys says he was confined to Amarantha’s bedroom, but I guess dead kids in Winter and Spring are just the price you pay for loving a morally gray bryonic hero uwu. I'd say, "Get fucked," but i think Rhys and Feyre would enjoy that too much.

8. When the Autumn Court says mean things it makes them irredeemable, but when Azriel and Feyre break all the rules of magic and physically retaliate and hurt other people, it's a-okay, and totally justified! Oh, the Lady of Autumn (another unnamed, sad silent [white] victim who only exists for Helion to angst over) gets hurt by virtue of being a bystander? Totally cool and normal, and since she's been a victim of domestic violence before, it means that she's a secret good guy who will totally understand and forgive Feyre for her totally justifiable outburst. Fuck off.

9. Feyre speaking to and ordering Azriel around like a literal rabid dog. Do I even need to explain this and why its bad. Do I even need to say it.

10. This scene was a joke and everything about it was a stinking trash fire.

[loquaciousquark]

A (late) state of the garden, part 1!

After a very terrible year thanks to frost, the perennials seem to be coming back with a vengeance. The encore azaleas in the front bloomed for what felt like ever, and the viburnum I planted last year seems to be overjoyed in its current location. I'm considering going back to get two more for the same place, since it's a little bare. (The red camellia I bought at the same time died hard over the winter, tragically.) The golden azalea Mom planted the year I moved in has also done well; after six years it's finally getting some real body to it!

The pink azaleas next to the house and my neighbor's massive Japanese privet both also had good years; I set up a patio table and chairs where the privet overflows my fence so I could sit out there some mornings with coffee and just bask in the smell.

Mom planted several heritage irises in the front a few years ago, and this year I got my first very purple bloom! Neither she nor I could remember what color they were, ahaha. Hoping for more blooms next year.

The confederate jasmine I planted last spring has done incredibly well and is trellising wildly over the fence. I planted a honeysuckle vine in the left corner next to it at the same time, but that thing looks worse than a weed & I'm considering tearing it out.

Finally, all four trees in the backyard are doing well. Two years ago, I sourced and planted two Shumard oaks myself, start to finish. They both did pretty badly & one had bad root girdling, so last year I asked a different company to come out (no way I was digging more of those holes myself, thanks), replace one of the oaks, move one of the current oaks to a different spot, and add a fresh oak & a magnolia in the back corner to eventually provide some privacy for my backyard neighbors. All four trees are doing great, even the relocated Shumard, and the magnolia even managed half a dozen blooms this year, which I completely forgot somehow that magnolias did and which literally made me shout when I first saw them. Here's hoping they put on some major height and body this summer!

[germanpostwarmodern]

„A Swiss in the Desert“ could read a future biography of architect Albert Frey: born and trained in the Confederation, Frey in 1930 emigrated to the United States and after an interlude in New York permanently settled in Palm Springs. Between 1928 and his emigration Frey had worked in the office of Le Corbusier, among others on the Villa Savoye project, and eventually became the first LC disciple in the US. With this record in his luggage Frey was able to join architect Lawrence Kocher, at the same time managing editor of Architectural Record, together with whom he designed the famous Aluminaire House in 1931.

A commission from Kocher’s brother eventually decided his fate to settle in Palm Springs permanently: while designing the Kocher-Samson Building in 1934 Frey fell in love with Palm Springs and the mountainous desert landscape in particular. During the more than sixty years that would follow, Frey, in changing collaborative constellations, designed a great number of buildings in Palm Springs, ranging from the Palm Springs City Hall (1952) to the Palm Springs Aerial Tramway Valley Station (1963) and numerous residences including his own two houses. But while his early Aluminaire House still shows the Corbusian influence Frey eventually coined his very own interpretation of the International Style in the desert, steering clear of any kitschiness that is sometimes associated with Palm Springs architecture. Instead, his architecture is characterized by a sophisticated simplicity that derives from his life-long concern with low-cost housing, his interest in materials and also his deep-rooted convictions about good architecture.

Up until August 18 the Palm Springs Art Museum shows the comprehensive exhibition „Albert Frey: Inventive Modernist“, curated by Brad Dunning who is also the editor of the present accompanying catalogue. It contains a wealth of photographs, plans and drawings as well as numerous and very insightful essays by renowned authors like Joseph Rosa, Barbara Lamprecht and Michael Rotondi. The result is a truly comprehensive overview of both Frey’s work and life that also is beautifully designed and as such deserves glowing praise!

[serpentface]

Philomene, age 8, posing with one of her family's cattle on the remnants of the river Leodike during the height of the Great Hunger.

Philomene is of a peasant family of the minor house Leodike in the Tho-Tykoso confederation, born at the onset of The Great Hunger- a brutal drought that occurred in the east and northeastern regions prior to the start of the story.

The drought lasted almost ten years, and was most potent and brutal in Philomene's homeland of the central-east Dainlands. Herds were decimated, crops destroyed and soil eroded, rivers dwindled to chains of puddles and lakes became mud. Dust storms turned the daylight sky black. Thousands starved to death or died of dehydration. Many thought the world was coming to an end.

The great freshwater lake ('Sweetwater Sea'/Tykoneroi) became the last stronghold for many in the surrounding lands, remaining a reliable source of water, and its shores were brutally fought over. The remnants of the Tho-Tykoso convened in the great hillfort of House Afawen, where they faced multiple sieges by other starving communities.

The drought finally relented in its tenth winter, where heavy snows and a wet spring began to rejuvenate the land (itself bringing floods and death, yet still welcome).

Philomene's immediate family did not survive through the drought and sieges, and she was taken as a ward of her great-aunt (a few times removed) and matriarch of the Tho-Tykoso, the roygar Areta Afawen.

Philomene was considered a 'boychild', but was unable to come of age at ten (due to the extenuating circumstances of her family starving to death), and thus is a wolla and is called 'she'. She is a quiet and nervous child, having been through great traumas during the formative years of her life and seen great brutality and horror during the sieges.

The main plot of the hypothetical story Blightseed involves her being stolen away by the Scholarly Order of the Root, who believe her to be the host to the Egg of God (a potentially apocalyptic entity whose coming was portended by the drought).

[dailyanarchistposts]

A.2.10 What will abolishing hierarchy mean and achieve?

The creation of a new society based upon libertarian organisations will have an incalculable effect on everyday life. The empowerment of millions of people will transform society in ways we can only guess at now.

However, many consider these forms of organisation as impractical and doomed to failure. To those who say that such confederal, non-authoritarian organisations would produce confusion and disunity, anarchists maintain that the statist, centralised and hierarchical form of organisation produces indifference instead of involvement, heartlessness instead of solidarity, uniformity instead of unity, and privileged elites instead of equality. More importantly, such organisations destroy individual initiative and crush independent action and critical thinking. (For more on hierarchy, see section B.1 — “Why are anarchists against authority and hierarchy?”).

That libertarian organisation can work and is based upon (and promotes) liberty was demonstrated in the Spanish Anarchist movement. Fenner Brockway, Secretary of the British Independent Labour Party, when visiting Barcelona during the 1936 revolution, noted that “the great solidarity that existed among the Anarchists was due to each individual relying on his [sic] own strength and not depending upon leadership… . The organisations must, to be successful, be combined with free-thinking people; not a mass, but free individuals” [quoted by Rudolf Rocker, Anarcho-syndicalism, p. 67f]

As sufficiently indicated already, hierarchical, centralised structures restrict freedom. As Proudhon noted: “the centralist system is all very well as regards size, simplicity and construction: it lacks but one thing — the individual no longer belongs to himself in such a system, he cannot feel his worth, his life, and no account is taken of him at all.” [quoted by Martin Buber, Paths in Utopia, p. 33]

The effects of hierarchy can be seen all around us. It does not work. Hierarchy and authority exist everywhere, in the workplace, at home, in the street. As Bob Black puts it, ”[i]f you spend most of your waking life taking orders or kissing ass, if you get habituated to hierarchy, you will become passive-aggressive, sado-masochistic, servile and stupefied, and you will carry that load into every aspect of the balance of your life.” [“The Libertarian as Conservative,” The Abolition of Work and other essays, pp. 147–8]

This means that the end of hierarchy will mean a massive transformation in everyday life. It will involve the creation of individual-centred organisations within which all can exercise, and so develop, their abilities to the fullest. By involving themselves and participating in the decisions that affect them, their workplace, their community and society, they can ensure the full development of their individual capacities.

With the free participation of all in social life, we would quickly see the end of inequality and injustice. Rather than people existing to make ends meet and being used to increase the wealth and power of the few as under capitalism, the end of hierarchy would see (to quote Kropotkin) “the well-being of all” and it is “high time for the worker to assert his [or her] right to the common inheritance, and to enter into possession of it.” [The Conquest of Bread, p. 35 and p. 44] For only taking possession of the means of life (workplaces, housing, the land, etc.) can ensure “liberty and justice, for liberty and justice are not decreed but are the result of economic independence. They spring from the fact that the individual is able to live without depending on a master, and to enjoy … the product of his [or her] toil.” [Ricardo Flores Magon, Land and Liberty, p. 62] Therefore liberty requires the abolition of capitalist private property rights in favour of “use rights.” (see section B.3 for more details). Ironically, the “abolition of property will free the people from homelessness and nonpossession.” [Max Baginski, “Without Government,” Anarchy! An Anthology of Emma Goldman’s Mother Earth, p. 11] Thus anarchism promises “both requisites of happiness — liberty and wealth.” In anarchy, “mankind will live in freedom and in comfort.” [Benjamin Tucker, Why I am an Anarchist, p. 135 and p. 136]

Only self-determination and free agreement on every level of society can develop the responsibility, initiative, intellect and solidarity of individuals and society as a whole. Only anarchist organisation allows the vast talent which exists within humanity to be accessed and used, enriching society by the very process of enriching and developing the individual. Only by involving everyone in the process of thinking, planning, co-ordinating and implementing the decisions that affect them can freedom blossom and individuality be fully developed and protected. Anarchy will release the creativity and talent of the mass of people enslaved by hierarchy.

Anarchy will even be of benefit for those who are said to benefit from capitalism and its authority relations. Anarchists “maintain that both rulers and ruled are spoiled by authority; both exploiters and exploited are spoiled by exploitation.” [Peter Kropotkin, Act for Yourselves, p. 83] This is because ”[i]n any hierarchical relationship the dominator as well as the submissive pays his dues. The price paid for the ‘glory of command’ is indeed heavy. Every tyrant resents his duties. He is relegated to drag the dead weight of the dormant creative potential of the submissive all along the road of his hierarchical excursion.” [For Ourselves, The Right to Be Greedy, Thesis 95]

[dreaminginthedeepsouth]

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

April 12, 2024

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

APR 13, 2024

At 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861, Confederate forces fired on Fort Sumter, a federal fort built on an artificial island in Charleston Harbor. 

Attacking the fort seemed a logical outcome of events that had been in play for at least four months. On December 20, 1860, as soon as it was clear Abraham Lincoln had won the 1860 presidential election, South Carolina lawmakers had taken their state out of the Union. “The whole town [of Charleston] was in an uproar,” Elizabeth Allston recalled. “Parades, shouting, firecrackers, bells ringing, cannon on the forts booming, flags waving, and excited people thronging the streets.” 

Mississippi had followed suit on January 9, 1861; Florida on January 10; Alabama on January 11; Georgia on January 19; Louisiana on January 26; and Texas on February 1. By the time Lincoln took the oath of office on March 4, 1861, seven southern states had left the Union and formed their own provisional government that protected human enslavement. 

Their move had come because the elite enslavers who controlled those southern states believed that Lincoln’s election to the presidency in 1860 itself marked the end of their way of life. Badly outnumbered by the northerners who insisted that the West must be reserved for free men, southern elites were afraid that northerners would bottle up enslavement in the South and gradually whittle away at it. Those boundaries would mean that white southerners would soon be outnumbered by the Black Americans they enslaved, putting not only their economy but also their very lives at risk.

To defend their system, elite southern enslavers rewrote American democracy. They insisted that the government of the United States of America envisioned by the Founders who wrote the Declaration of Independence had a fatal flaw: it declared that all men were created equal. In contrast, the southern enslavers were openly embracing the reality that some people were better than others and had the right to rule. 

They looked around at their great wealth—the European masters hanging in their parlors, the fine dresses in which they clothed their wives and daughters, and the imported olive oil on their tables—and concluded they were the ones who had figured out the true plan for human society. As South Carolina senator James Henry Hammond explained to his colleagues in March 1858, the “harmonious…and prosperous” system of the South worked precisely because a few wealthy men ruled over a larger class with “a low order of intellect and but little skill.” Hammond dismissed “as ridiculously absurd” the idea that “all men are born equal.” 

On March 21, 1861, Georgia’s Alexander Stephens, the newly-elected vice president of the Confederacy, explained to a crowd that the Confederate government rested on the “great truth” that the Black man “is not equal to the white man; that…subordination to the superior race is his natural and normal condition.” Stephens told listeners that the Confederate government “is the first, in the history of the world, based upon this great physical, philosophical, and moral truth.”

Not every white southerner thought secession from the United States was a good idea. Especially as the winter wore into spring and Lincoln made no effort to attack the South, conservative leaders urged their hot-headed neighbors to slow down. But for decades, southerners had marinated in rhetoric about their strength and independence from the federal government, and as Senator Judah P. Benjamin of Louisiana later wrote, “[t]he prudent and conservative men South,” were not “able to stem the wild torrent of passion which is carrying everything before it…. It is a revolution...of the most intense character…and it can no more be checked by human effort, for the time, than a prairie fire by a gardener’s watering pot.”

Southern white elites celebrated the idea of a new nation, one they dominated, convinced that the despised Yankees would never fight. “So far as civil war is concerned,” one Atlanta newspaper wrote in January 1861, “we have no fears of that in Atlanta.” White southerners boasted that “a lady’s thimble will hold all the blood that will be shed” in establishing a new nation. Senator James Chesnut of South Carolina went so far as to vow that he would drink all the blood shed as a consequence of southern secession. 

Chesnut’s promise misread the situation. Northerners recognized that if Americans accepted the principle that some men were better than others, and permitted southern Democrats to spread that principle by destroying the United States, they had lost democracy. "I should like to know, if taking this old Declaration of Independence, which declares that all men are equal upon principle, and making exceptions to it, where will it stop?” Lincoln had asked in 1858.

Northerners rejected the white southerners’ radical attempt to destroy the principles of the Declaration of Independence. They understood that it was not just Black rights at stake. Arguments like that of Stephens, that some men were better than others, “are the arguments that kings have made for enslaving the people in all ages of the world,” Lincoln said. “You will find that all the arguments in favor of king-craft were of this class; they always bestrode the necks of the people, not that they wanted to do it, but because the people were better off for being ridden…. Turn in whatever way you will—whether it come from the mouth of a King, an excuse for enslaving the people of his country, or from the mouth of men of one race as a reason for enslaving the men of another race, it is all the same old serpent….”

Northerners rejected the slaveholders’ unequal view of the world, seeing it as a radical reworking of the nation’s founding principles. After the Confederates fired on Fort Sumter, Lincoln called for 75,000 to put down the rebellion against the government. He called for “loyal citizens to favor, facilitate, and aid this effort to maintain the honor, the integrity, and the existence of our National Union, and the perpetuity of popular government; and to redress wrongs already long enough endured.”

Like their southern counterparts, northerners also dismissed the idea that a civil war would be bloody. They were so convinced that a single battle would bring southerners to their senses that inhabitants of Washington, D.C., as well as congressmen and their wives packed picnics and took carriages out to Manassas, Virginia, to watch the Battle of Bull Run in July 1861. They decamped in panic as the battle turned against the United States army and soldiers bolted past them, flinging haversacks and rifles as they fled.

For their part, southerners were as shocked by the battle as the people of the North were. “Never have I conceived,” one South Carolina soldier wrote, “of such a continuous, rushing hailstorm of shot, shell, and musketry as fell around and among us for hours together. We who escaped are constantly wondering how we could possibly have come out of the action alive.” 

Over the next four years, the Civil War would take more than 620,000 lives and cost the United States more than $5 billion. By 1865, two-thirds of the assessed value of southern wealth had evaporated; two-fifths of the livestock— horses and draft animals for tilling fields as well as pigs and sheep for food— were dead. Over half the region's farm machinery had been destroyed, most factories were burned, and railroads were gone, either destroyed or worn out. But by the end of the conflagration, the institution of human enslavement as the central labor system for the American South was destroyed. 

On March 4, 1865, when a weary Lincoln took the oath of office for a second time, he reviewed the war’s history. “To strengthen, perpetuate and extend [slavery] was the object for which the insurgents would rend the Union even by war while the government claimed no right to do more than to restrict the territorial enlargement of it,” he said. “Neither party expected for the war the magnitude or the duration which it has already attained. Neither anticipated that the cause of the conflict might cease with or even before the conflict itself should cease. Each looked for an easier triumph and a result less fundamental and astounding. 

“Both read the same Bible and pray to the same God and each invokes His aid against the other. It may seem strange that any men should dare to ask a just God’s assistance in wringing their bread from the sweat of other men’s faces but let us judge not that we be not judged. The prayers of both could not be answered—that of neither has been answered fully. The Almighty has His own purposes.”

“Both parties deprecated war but one of them would make war rather than let the nation survive, and the other would accept war rather than let it perish,” he said. 

“And the war came.” 

LETTERS FROM AN AMERICAN

HEATHER COX RICHARDSON

[tomorrowusa]

Minnesota officially adopted a new flag last spring. They ditched the stereotypically boring state flag they had and opted for something more distinctive.

I like it a lot. What could possibly be bad about a flag featuring two different shades of blue? So I bought one to keep with some of my other flags.

When you see MAGA weirdos on the street you often see them carrying a variety of flags including: Confederate, Trump, Nazi, upside-down US, and snake flags.

The new Minnesota flag is one which more of us should adopt and display. It serves as a symbol of post-Trump America.

If you're looking for a Minnesota flag online, be sure you don't get the old one by mistake. The new one is shown in the images above. The old one features the discontinued state seal on a navy background.

[chriscdcase95]

(Wednesday, having been sick the past day or two, is just now getting better. The phone in her and Enid’s room rings, to which she goes to answer.)

(She and Enid were put in charge of watching Pubert, but while Wends was sick, Enid took Pubert on an outing. So she already knows who’s on the other line.)

Wednesday: (groggily answering the phone) “Speak.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Um, so…Nighty-light ?”

Wednesday: (pinches the bridge of her nose, but is otherwise calm) “Don’t…you don’t call me that in a public setting. We’ve been over this fifteen times.”

Enid: (on the other end) “Actually it was twenty seven, but that’s not the point. It’s Pubert…”

Wednesday: (narrowing her eyes) “What about him ?”

Enid: (On the other end) “So you remember that Reenactment they were having ?” (Wednesday’s eyes widen and her head perks up. There was a Civil War Reenactment for the past week, commemorating  the “Nevermore’s Red Bath”; a weeks-long siege in which past Addams’ are said to have held down the fort against confederate raiders.) 

Wednesday: “Enid…where is Pubert ?”

(Enid hesitates for a second before sighing)

Enid: “Xavier was participating and offered to show him-”

Wednesday: “I’m on my way.”

(Wednesday hangs up the phone.)

(We jump cut to Wednesday getting off a bike, and making her way down an encampment, where an antsy Enid is waiting for her.)

(There are in a forested area five miles off the school; there is a makeshift camp down the bank, where the third day of Red Bath occurred. The sun is disappearing over the horizon.)

Enid: (following Wednesday closely behind) “He’s at the-”

Wednesday: “I know where he is, get your phone out, this needs to be on record!”

Enid: (momentarily confused) “Record bu-”(realizes what Wednesday is insinuating, and sighs) “Of course.”

(At the camp, fourteen confederate reenactors are bound by their wrists to these makeshift posts from the trees. Union reenactors – Xavier, Ajax and Eugene among them – look on mortified and bewildered at Wednesday’s four year old brother, and what he's preparing to do. When they see Wednesday and Enid, they look a little relieved.)

(Wearing a set of Union soldier coat pants, and a sweater vest (adjusted for his size), Pubert has red paint around his eyes, which are still wet and dripping, like bloody tears. Pubert is cosplaying as his ancestor of that era – Ezekiel “Tanhide” Addams.)

(Presently, Pubert is sitting before a fire, heating up a very real bowie knife over the fire, sharpening it on a bronze cutting stone. The other participants are too scared to take it from him.)

Wednesday: (amused) “Ah, so that’s where it went.”

(Enid glances at Wednesday with a flat expression.)

Pubert: (in-character, singing a little tune) “I was a highwayman/Along the coach roads I did ride/With sword and pistol by my side..”

(Pubert decided the knife is hot enough. At his side is an apple, which he picks up.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “Many a young maid lost her marbles to my trade/Many a soldier shed his life blood on my blade…”

(Pubert slices through the apple effortlessly; the heat of the knife causes the juices to steam a little, even as he takes a bite. He glances at his observers and spits out an apple seed.)

Pubert: (in character, still singing) “They finally hung me in the spring of twenty five/but I’m still alive…”

(Pubert gets up, advancing towards the prisoners; cosplaying as the captain of this troop.)

Pubert: (stops singing but is still in character) “Which is more than I can for you lot.”

Participant: “Kid, listen! This is just a reenactment! It’s all just fun and games-”

Pubert: (in character, but snapping) “Fun and games ? Your fun and games burned a hospital and an orphanage! Carved up that poor girl and left her as a message!” (chuckles) “Well, messaged received, mi amigo.”

(The other players looked around bewildered. As vicious as the raids historically were - we’re talking “Blood Meridian” levels - they obviously didn’t reenact those parts.)

Enid: (Whispering to Wednesday) “Aren’t you gonna stop him-?”

(With an amused expression, Wednesday holds up a finger to silence her. Conceding defeat, Enid sighs and shrugs.)

Pubert: (in character, now holding the bowie knife under his prisoner's neck) “So you like scaring people ? That’s good. I need a scarecrow. You and your troop are gonna be my message!”

(Pubert takes hold of the participants hair, holding the knife at his cranium, as if about to scalp him. It’s then Wednesday steps in.)

Wednesday: “Pubert!”

(Pubert stops, looking quiet, humbled. Like a toddler caught stealing cookies. The other participants sigh in relief.)

(Wednesday sits on her knees before Pubert, wiping the red paint off his eyes. She silently looks at the paint for a moment, before speaking.)

Wednesday: “You know…If you want it to look real, you’d need to add a shot of green into the paint. Blue would make it purple.”

(Wednesday looks at Enid)

Wednesday: “Enid, I wouldn’t normally ask this but-”

Enid: (non-plussed but going through her bag) “Way ahead of you.”

(Moments later, Pubert, is wearing more real-looking “blood” as war paint, with Enid putting on the finishing touches.)

Enid: “Aaand, there we go!”

Wednesday: (opening a pocket mirror for Pubert to see) “What do you think ?”

Pubert: (still in character, but now pressing his hand affectionately to Wednesday’s cheek, and his forehead to hers) “You’ve always been good to me, Morrigan. If only these swine had a sister like you; they wouldn’t be as stupid.”

(Moments later, Wednesday looks on with a proud expression, wiping a tear from her eye. Enod records this on her phone, nonplussed, but with the ghost of a smile on her face. Pubert is once again pacing, back and forth before the prisoners.)

Pubert: (still in character) “I want you to know what you’re here for. What you’re fighting for, and what you’re dying for! A lost cause! Nothing! The death throes of dying era, from which you will never rise! When history looks back at you, that will be your legacy-”

(They are interrupted when the sound of the horn over the horizon, indicating that today's game is over. The participants sigh in relief, while Pubert looks irate.)

Ajax: “Okay, so I guess that’s a wrap every-”

Pubert: (in character, chuckles humorlessly) “You must have been born yesterday, son. That’d be re-enforcments you hear. More for the fire…”

Eugene: “Pubert, it’s getting late, shouldn’t we-?”

(Pubert inhales and exhales deeply, smearing the “blood” all over the face. He stretches' his arms, and cracks his neck, before tossing the bowie knife into the air, and catches it by the handle.)

Pubert: (in character) “Puede que me vaya al infierno, ¡pero esos nueces de mantequilla se irán primero!”

(With a makeshift torch from the campfire in one hand, and bowie knife in the other, Pubert lets out the best war cry a four year old can muster, and he runs towards the sound of advancing participants, in a Banzai-like charge.)

(Enid and the other freed participants are busy untying the “prisoners”, while Wednesday looks on at Pubert; her proud smile widens as the sounds of other participants screaming in terror and disbelief could be heard.)

Enid: “Should…shouldn’t we go get him ?”

Wednesday: (shrugs) “Ah, let him tucker himself out.”

[stephensmithuk]

Taking a Cure and Breaking Carlsbad

Because there is really nothing new under the sun at the end of the day, some people were just as obsessed about their health as they are now.

CW for discussion of historical atrocities and capital punishment.

Taking the Waters

It was believed in the 19th century and indeed for a few centuries before that "taking the waters" from wells in certain inland towns with natural springs was good for your health. A lot of places had gained this reputation, like Bath in England and Spa in Belgium. Yep, that's where the name comes from.

You could either drink the waters, bathe in them or both. This was segregated by sex, as you would generally be naked in the latter case.

The arrival of the railways made "taking a cure" a good deal easier. Bath was connected to London by the Great Western Railway and today you can get there by 125mph train in under 90 minutes from Paddington.

So, many of the rich and famous would take holidays in these places, where they would drink the water, go on a restricted diet, take long walks and undergo various treatments, prescribed by spa physicians.

Some of these were medically sound. Some come across as quackery of the first water, pun fully intended.

Treatments included - and you can still find many of these in modern day spa facilities - mud baths, massages, seaweed wraps, steam rooms etc. There was also something called a Vichy Shower, which involves lying on a slab while being sprayed with water from multiple nozzles in a shower bar.

Yes, Vichy in France is a spa town. The reason the collaborationist government went there in 1940 is because it had a lot of hotels to put everyone up.

Karlovy Vary

Anyway, Carlsbad was the former English spelling of Karlsbad, a town in Bohemia then under Austrian rule. You may know it better under its modern name of Karlovy Vary, today in Czechia (aka the Czech Republic, its long form name), about sixty-six miles west of Prague. It has an airport, but the flights are limited there - you will generally need to go to Prague, then get a coach or train.

Three American places and one in Canada still bear the name Carlsbad, the most notable being the coastal city in California, now home to a Legoland.

The name in both German and Czech means "Charles' baths".

While there were settlements in the area going back to the Bronze Age, legend has it that Charles IV, King of Bohemia, found a warm spring by accident while exploring the local area and the waters healed his injured leg. In any event, he gave the place royal privileges in 1370.

His successor, Wenceslaus IV, would give the town a right of asylum and the place also had a ban on carrying weapons.

In 1526, Louis II would drown as he fled defeat by the Ottoman Empire at the Battle of Mohács, ending his dynasty as he had no legitimate children. Austrian Ferdinand I was elected as his successor and to cut a long story short, Bohemia lost its independence, becoming part of the Austrian Empire.

The 16th and 17th centuries weren't great for the place; a massive flood, a big fire and Swedish troops looting the place three times in seven years during the Thirty Years' War.

In 1819, the town would hold a conference of representatives from the states of the German Confederation, passing decrees increasing press censorship and banning nationalist societies among other things in an attempt to slow moves towards unification.

In the event, that unification would happen in 1871, but Austria would be excluded from the new Germany and instead unified with Hungary in the Dual Monarchy, aka Austria-Hungary. Karlsbad would be in the Austrian part of this new Empire and was in fact majority-German speaking.

Anyway, back to Karlsbad. The town was rapidly developing in popularity as a resort during the course of the 19th century and would become even more popular in 1870, when a railway line was built from Prague to Eger (now Cheb) on the border with Germany.

The railway line allowed for through carriages to operate from across Europe. In 1888, it took a day and 8 1/2 hours to get there from London. By 1911, CIWL was offering a through sleeping carriage, along with parlor/dining car from Ostend to Carlsbad, the former reachable from Charing Cross via train and ferry. The journey was now doable in 26 hours and 21 minutes.

The appeal for spa fans was clear - 80 springs with water running up to 74 degrees Celsius. Mineral water and herbal bitters were bottled and exported all over Europe. The mountain scenery and fresh air allowed people to take walks as part of their "cure."

The best-known spa by the Raffles time was the Imperial Spa, of which more later.

There were also plenty of hotels or pensions. The September 1888 Bradshaw's Continental advertises eight of them, with no less than seven boasting of English-speaking staff or indeed managers. The most famous hotel, opened in 1701 and still going strong in 2024 is the Grandhotel Pupp, which featured extensively in the 2006 James Bond film Casino Royale where it played the Hotel Splendide. Indeed, Karlovy Vary has a big starring role in that film.

Churchgoers were well-provided for, with churches for multiple denominations. The Anglican one is now a waxworks museum of all things.

Many rich and famous faces would show up at Carlsbad and nearby Marienbad. Chopin and Beethoven visited there. Anthony Joseph Drexel, founder of what is now J. P. Morgan & Co visited there in 1893... then had a fatal heart attack.

As the Redux points out, all these rich people were prime targets for thieves.

An 1884 guide to the place can be found here:

Things were going pretty swimmingly for the spa town... and then the First World War happened, rather damaging the tourist industry.

The collapse of Austria-Hungary saw the town incorporated into the new country of Czechoslovakia following the Treaty of Saint-Germain-en-Laye in 1919. Local protests in March 1919 ended in six deaths after things turned violent and Czechoslovak soldiers opened fire, but the local population of what was now Karlovy Vary soon accepted their new situation. A 1930 census made clear that the place remained overwhelmingly German in its composition.

The place didn't recover to its pre-war popularity; the Great Depression really didn't help in that department. The German-speaking areas of Czechoslovakia had a lot of industries, like toy-making, which were reliant on exports... and protectionism was now very much in vogue. There were also tensions between the German minority and the Czech majority.

Then a certain Austrian man with a toothbrush moustache came along. Karlovy Vary was in what was becoming known as the Sudetenland... and you can probably see where this is going.

In September 1938, the Munich Agreement, signed without the Czechoslovaks being involved (who had to accept it), saw the Sudetenland handed over to Germany. By March 1939, the Germans had invaded and annexed the rest of the Czech part of the country, Poland and Hungary had taken various bits of territory and a pro-Axis client state was set up in what was left of Slovakia. However, it does not seem there was any mass support for this by the Germans of Karlovy Vary.

The Nazis set up the Protectorate of Bohemia and Moravia in the Czech bits they'd got in March 1939.

While a full discussion of their horrific rule is beyond the scope of this post, Karl Hermann Frank, born in what was then Carlsbad, would be placed in charge of the Nazi police apparatus in the protectorate. He would eventually become Minister of State, the most powerful official in it and in these roles would play a primary role in the mass murder of the Jewish population in the Protectorate. He would also give the orders to destroy Lidice and Ležáky, murdering nearly all their inhabitants, in reprisal for the assassination of Reinhard Heydrich in 1942.

Karlovy Vary would play host to a Gestapo prison; I imagine the town also saw some use by soldiers on leave.

Karlovy Vary was out of the effective range of Allied bombers for much of the war but came under heavy bombing twice in the final months of the conflict; bombers heading for Dresden in February 1945 appear to have also bombed Karlovy Vary (and Prague) by mistake. The town was heavily damaged, but the spa part escaped destruction.

Karlovy Vary was part of an agreed stop line for George S. Patton's Twelfth Army Group in May 1945 as they raced east. They met some resistance as they approached (namely the dangerous 88mm guns that had to be taken out individually), but the town surrendered without a fight on 7 May 1945; German forces there just wanting to surrender to the Americans and not the Red Army, who would treat them much worse.

However, it had already been agreed that this would be an area under Soviet occupation and Patton's forces had to cross back over the restored border into Germany, handing the place over on 11 May.

The Czechoslovakian-government-in-exile had declared its German and Hungarian minorities collectively responsible for the occupation. The Allies at the Potsdam Conference agreed that Germans east of their new borders should be transferred in an orderly fashion to Germany i.e. expelled.

It would be anything but orderly. Many had already fled west to get away from the Soviets, either in organised evacuations or on their own initiative, the later continuing after the surrender. At least 100,000 civilians died in this flight from aerial attack or other causes, such as the atrocious winter of 1944-45.

Now, Czechoslovakia would kick out nearly all the rest. Germans and Hungarians had their land seized, their citizenships revoked and were sent west or north; around 1.3 million and 800,000 respectively.

Mobs and those in uniforms engaged in massacres with varying degrees of official connivance; with the harsh conditions of the expulsion as well, it is estimated by a joint German-Czech commission that 15,000 to 16,000 died, along with another 3,400 suicides.

Others ended up in internment camps, also with harsh conditions.

Those who could prove they were anti-fascists or who were essential for the economy, a number estimated up to 250,000, were allowed to stay. In other cases, Communist Party redistributed assets to Czechs in the border areas, getting a lot of support in post-war elections as a result.

The expulsion/deportation remains something of an elephant in the room in the now three countries - it was historically a much bigger issue. West Germany paid compensation to those thrown out from its own funds and the international community concluded that Czechoslovakia taking their assets meant that no reparations needed paying. A Czechoslovak law granting immunity for crimes committed in 1945 in the name of liberation remains in force. A joint agreement in 1997 saw Germany accept responsibility for Nazi crimes and Czechia express regret for the deaths in the expulsions; various attempts at reconciliation have happened. The surviving Sudeten Germans do not want their land back in general, just official recognition.

The events have come up from time to time in the politics of the area, but I shall leave that discussion for others to have.

In the aftermath, the Czechoslovaks also conducted war crimes trials of those who had engaged in such horror upon their country. Karl Hermann Frank, captured by the Americans the day after the war ended, was extradited back to Czechoslovakia, and sentenced to death by the People's Court in Prague. On 22 May 1946, he was executed in front of 5,000 people in the courtyard of Pankrác prison; it was a ticketed event with "scalpers" to boot in what would be the final public execution in Prague. It was also photographed and filmed for the media; the footage can be found easily online, so you may not want to look this up. Especially as the method of hanging was the Austro-Hungarian pole method, not a pleasant way to go.

The Communists, starting to lose popularity, sized power in a coup in 1948 and created a Soviet-aligned state.

The Grandhotel Pupp had already been nationalised, the Pupp family having been expelled and was renamed the Grandhotel Moskva in 1951.

The Karlovy Vary Film Festival began in 1946 and quickly became prominent after it introduced an international film competition two years later, by 1956, it was a top-tier festival, up there with the likes of Venice and Cannes. Moscow got jealous and forced the festival to go from annually to bi-annually; it alternated with the festival in the Soviet capital until 1993.

The need for "hard currency" such as the West German mark to be used to pay for imports into the CSSR meant Karlovy Vary continued to market itself to foreign tourists, especially West Germans. The erection of the Iron Curtain made travel to and from Czechoslovakia a lot harder, as you now needed a visa to go there from the West; there was also a mandatory foreign exchange requirement, although paying for the hotel could cover that. East Germans, who could travel to Czechoslovakia without the need for a visa, seem to have found Karlovy Vary too expensive and went to other spa towns. In any event, the Soviet invasion of 1968 that ended the Prague Spring damaged visitor numbers further, not to mention destroying the credibility of much of the Eurocommunist movement, who mostly parted company with Moscow in short order.

As for the Imperial Spa, built in 1895 and known as Spa I since 1922, it had been renovated in the late 1940s so it could operate all-year round and declared a cultural monument. However, increasing maintenance costs meant it stopped operating as a spa in the late 1980s, becoming a casino, falling further into disrepair.

Things, however, were about to improve. The Velvet Revolution of 1989 saw the largelyFilm/TheMummy1999 peaceful end of the Communist government (a lot of people were beaten up by security forces, but no-one died, although a hoax story of a death played a key part) and Czechoslovakia's return to democracy. It became two democracies in short order; it became clear that the Czechs and Slovaks had different ideas of the direction of travel for their country, so the Velvet Divorce followed in 1993, creating Czechia and Slovakia. Both countries would maintain good relationships with each other and join the EU together in the 2004; Czechia retains the koruna, having not yet joined the eurozone.

In 1990, Karlovy Vary got city status as the tourists came back. The Grandhotel Pupp got its name back - a deal being reached with the family in 1992 for use of the trademark. The film festival returned to being an annual event, only being skipped in 2020 for obvious reasons, although a shorter festival happened in November. In 2024, the Crystal Globe was won by A Sudden Glimpse to Deeper Things, a British documentary on an abstract artist called Wilhelmina Barns-Graham.

The Imperial Spa was declared a national monument in 2010 and a renovation began in 2019, allowing the place to fully reopen in 2023.

I think that's a good place to end it. I am now thinking of going there myself...