AMOW Winter Whumperland
@amonthofwhump Day 9: Unwanted Gift
(got a bit carried away with what was supposed to be a short piece. Chances are, I won't write more, but anyone who likes the concept is invited to continue the storyline lol)
Hero tapped their fingers on the table in an anxious rhythm. Vigilante was due over for lunch any minute now, and as usual, they didn't know whether to look forward to or dread her visit.
True, their agendas were aligned as far as crimestopping was concerned, but their methods… not so much. Vigilante was fun, but unpredictable, and outright bloodthirsty when it came to justice. Hero had never been bold enough to confront her more chaotic methods, no matter how much they wanted to.
Still, she was more or less a friend, and one of the few people they could actually talk to about their chosen occupation. And it was fun to have joint complaint sessions about their shared nemesis, Villain, though it was apparently his quiet season. Maybe he'd taken to hibernating all winter, like some kind of woodland creature.
Adding to their anxieties, last time they'd spoken with Vigilante, she'd slyly mentioned having a surprise for Hero. Considering the last present she'd left them was a roomful of unconscious criminals (a gift Hero had accepted with the grace of a cat owner who'd found a dead lizard on the porch), Hero was a little… uncertain about their stance on this.
A knock pulled them to their feet with a light sigh. They opened the door to reveal Vigilante, a smile on her face and a huge crate sitting on a dolly behind her. Hero raised both eyebrows, squeezing their eyes shut for a moment to compose themselves.
"Vigilante. Uh, wow. That's, uh, that's a bit more than I expected."
She laughed, tugging on the handle of the dolly to pull the package inside after her. Whatever it was, it looked like it weighed a lot. "Duh, wouldn't be a surprise if you expected it."
She hung her hat and coat, kicked off snow-covered boots, then wheeled the thing into the carpeted living room, where it took up most of the free space.
Hero clicked their tongue. "So… you want some lunch, or..?"
"Are you kidding? I wanna see you open this up first."
Hero nodded, putting on a smile that felt more like a grimace. They always felt so awkward opening up gifts in front of people, nevermind a gift that was so unexpected. It was more than a little nerve wracking. What would be inside? Knowing Vigilante, it could be anything from a lifetime supply of biscotti, to a live tiger, (to a dead criminal...)
Hero shook off the thought with a shudder. She wouldn't. She wouldn't go that far, at least… at least not in front of them. Right?
Vigilante nudged them. "Come onnn, crack it open! I wanna see the look on your face."
Hero let out a nervous laugh. "Okay." They reached for the crate. It had latches running down the side, so that it would swing open like a refrigerator once they were removed. At least they wouldn't have to bring out a crowbar.
They undid the first latch. Something inside the crate moved.
Hero took a hasty step back, casting a glance at Vigilante.
"What the–"
"Just open it! Don't freak out, okay? I promise it's safe."
Sure it was. Taking a breath to steady themselves, Hero moved back to the box, undoing the remaining latches one by one, their stomach doing backflips as they slowly, slowly, pulled the door open to reveal…
"Villain?" they murmured, momentarily frozen in place.
It was him alright. Curled into a tight ball, his hands shielding his face, his body shaking. Hero took it in. The bruised flesh, the lack of warm clothing, the fear they could practically feel coming off of him.
"Vigilante– this, it's… no. This isn't—" Hero stammered, unable to form a coherent sentence.
"Do you like it?" Vigilante was unfazed. Maybe she took Hero's shock as something good. They'd been surprised all right.
"Vigilante–"
"You don't have to worry about him bugging you anymore," she said brightly. "Watch." She snapped her fingers, and Villain flinched, then slowly uncurled himself and crawled out of the crate, pushing himself into a kneeling position, head bent.
Hero couldn't move, could only watch, horrified, as their once-proud enemy trembled before them.
"You… you trained him?"
"Surprise!" Her cheer was undampened. How could she be so okay with this? Had it been her who'd left all those bruises and half-healed wounds?
Villain's hair had grown long, shaggy strands obscuring his face. Hero took a cautious step forward, and instantly regretted it as the new angle gave them a good view of Villain's back, split open by dozens of whip marks. Their hand flew to their mouth. They were going to be sick.
"What did you do?" they said, barely past a whisper.
"You don't like it." Vigilante sounded disappointed.
"I don't— I— you hurt him. This isn't… I can't stand for this kind of torture." They tore their eyes away from Villain, who didn't seem to be reacting at all to the situation.
Vigilante had a pouty expression on her face, completely oblivious to the gravity of all of this. "Not even if it's Villain? Come on, you hate him. I thought this would make you happy."
Hero shook their head. "No. No, I wanted to stop Villain. I-I wanted him to be caught. To face justice."
"That's what I did. I caught him. I delivered–"
"This isn't justice."
She fell silent for a moment, looked up at them with puppydog eyes. "I did this for you, Hero," she said quietly.
I never asked you to, Hero wanted to say, but what would happen if they rejected her misguided gift? Would she take him back? Kill him? No matter what Villain had done, Hero couldn't sentence him to torture, to death.
So they swallowed down the words, nodding. "Okay. Just… just give me some time, okay? We'll talk about this later, I-I just need to think."
Vigilante nodded back, and they could see tears forming in her eyes. She'd truly believed they would like it. They tried to quell the barrage of mixed emotions within them as they saw her to the door, pushed down every questioning thought as they walked back to Villain, who still hadn't moved.
How long had it been since they'd last seen him? Five months? Six? How much of that time had he spent a captive?
Hero knelt in front of him, caution at the forefront of their mind, but more out of habit than any real sense of danger. They had no doubt they could easily overpower the beaten figure in front of them if the need arose.
"Um, hey," they said, eliciting no response from Villain. How far gone was he? They tried again.
"Look at me," they said, trying to make the command soft, non-threatening. Villain took a quiet, shuddering breath, then raised his head to meet their eyes.
His face was partially obscured by dark hair, but Hero could see bruising on his cheekbone, his jaw. His eyes were sharp with fear, and Hero felt like he was searching them. Looking for intent.
"I'm not going to hurt you," they said. "You, uh… I'm sorry this happened. I never intended–"
With a sudden cry, Villain lunged forward, knocking Hero onto their back. Hero threw up an arm, ready to defend against a blow, but Villain was already stumbling away.
He wasn't attacking. He was running.
Hero pushed themselves up as their nemesis reached the front door, fumbling at the handle with shaking fingers before throwing it open and running outside.
After a moment's consideration, Hero ran after him. They couldn't just let him go, but more than that, he was barefoot and barely clothed, and it was snowing.
It didn't take long to catch up. When he looked back to see Hero in pursuit, he put on another burst of short-lived speed that left him collapsed in the road.
Hero knelt down to help him up, and was met by several weak blows.
"Don't. Please, just…" Villain barely got out a few words before the sentence dissolved into sobs.
Hero scooped him into their arms, his body shaking violently against the cold. No matter how big a pain in the ass Villain was, they'd never wanted to see him like this. But like it or not, here he was.
They couldn't hand him over to law enforcement. They couldn't give him back to Vigilante. Hell, they didn't even know if he had any friends who would take him in. They were all he had.
They carried him through their still-open front door, set him on the couch, and piled on a few blankets. It was several minutes before Villain's sobs began to quiet, and Hero took that time to put soup on the stove and boil water for tea.
It was obvious Villain didn't trust them. Why would he? He'd probably try to run again as soon as he had the chance. He'd need an eye kept on him, and a lot of patience to go with it.
Vigilante hadn't been wrong. This was certainly a surprise. A difficult one, but Hero was willing to work with it. To wait, to hope for the best.
To help their enemy heal.
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Ex-Moonie Says Cults Make “1984” a Reality
The following letter of March 1 to the Cult Observer is from Paul Engel, National oordinator of the Former Cultists Support Network (FOCUS).
The world George Orwell depicted in “1984” is not imaginary. It is a present reality. And many people, not only those who have been prisoners of war or subjects of Soviet or Chinese communism, have experienced it. It exists in thousands of contemporary cults. I know, because I myself was a victim of cult mind manipulation.
My manipulator was the “Moonies.” They did not torture me, nor did they employ all-seeing 1984 ‘telescreens.’ Nonetheless, they achieved control over me, more subtle than Big Brother’s control over Winston Smith, and stripped me of the ability to use my critical faculties, to establish emotional ties, and to communicate independently.
Communication control in their isolated camp environment was the key. They ‘loaded the language’ (to use Robert Lifton’s phrase), to develop in me a kind of 1984 ‘Newspeak.’ This was full of new meanings for old words and concepts, and restricted in range. For example, they purged the word ‘free’ of intellectual or political meaning: it signified only a lack of physical attachment; it no longer implied choice, only the ability to do ‘God’s will.’
Similarly, in the Unification Church and 1984, opposites replace one another. In 1984 the Ministry of Truth fabricates history, the Ministry of Peace maintains constant war, and the Ministry of Love is a place of torture. For Rev. Moon’s followers, the chant “Bomb with Love” and the practice of “Heavenly Deception” effectively combine contradictory terms and impulses. And all of this loading of the language contributes to the ability to rewrite history: Orwell’s Winston Smith himself constantly revises records just as cults pervert scriptures, change certain facts, and give new meanings or justifications for failed prophecies.
‘Newspeak’ also diminishes the range of thought. And without an appreciation for concepts like freedom, relativity, and individuality and family, the quality of interpersonal relationships alters. Soon, the individual automatically suppresses or corrects ‘wrong’ thoughts and feelings (‘crimestop’ for the inhabitants of 1984 and ‘fighting Satan’ among the Moonies).
Just in case internal controls don’t work, the group keeps close watch. In 1984, people are constantly scrutinized for such ‘facecrimes’ as inappropriate emotions toward others, or distaste for the ‘Party.’ And the same goes for cults. I had to smile constantly to avoid seeming to show unhappiness or discontent, which would be punished.
Confession is a typical corrective to bad thoughts in totalistic environments, and especially in cults. It diminishes individuality and fosters groups identity. The worse you make your pre-cult life look, the better example of positive change you become. For instance, a person who smoked marijuana only once says he’s a drug addict, and someone who had sexual relations becomes a whore or an abuser of women.
But confession only temporarily alleviates the painful striving for perfection, and frustration is inevitable because the ideal is unattainable. The resulting guilt leads to self-punishment – in the Unification Church, neglect of sleep and food, cold showers.
The demand for purity in both 1984 and cults leads to an everlasting fight against normal doubts and desires – intellectual, emotional, and sexual. Control of sexuality is designed to prevent truly intimate relations. In 1984, Winston and Julia are intercepted in their affair and made to denounce each other for the love of ‘Big Brother.’ Likewise in the Unification Church, sex is seen exclusively for procreation, and ‘arranged’ marriages, with control of sex within marriage, rob it of anything personal.
Such a high degree of control is gained through what Lifton calls ‘mystical manipulation.’ This makes the cultic experience seem almost miraculous. For example, recruits are told that questions about the Unification Church will be answered at some point during special lectures. Unknown to the questioners, group leaders pass these questions on to lecturers, and the latter then answer these very same questions at a later date in another context. This makes it seem as if the group is omniscient, anticipating all questions and providing ‘all the answers,’ as promised.
The result of the indoctrination is that you get a society of absolutes where both interpersonal and intrapersonal relationships are virtually extinguished, along with those qualities which make us uniquely human: independent thought, intimacy, and communication.
Cult Observer, Vol. 2, No. 2, 1985, p.35
______________________________________
Moonwebs by Josh Freed (the book was made into a movie)
David Frank Taylor:
“Social organization of recruitment in the Unification Church” (1978).
Crazy for God: The nightmare of cult life by Christopher Edwards
Barbara Underwood and the Oakland Moonies
Papasan Choi and Boonville’s Japanese origins
Life Among the Moonies [in Oakland] by Deanna Durham
Camp K, aka Maacama Hill, Unification Church recruitment camp
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”A Party member is expected to have no private emotions and no respites from enthusiasm. He is supposed to live in a continuous frenzy of hatred of foreign enemies and internal traitors, triumph over victories, and self-abasement before
the power and wisdom of the Party. The discontents produced by his bare, unsatisfying life are deliberately turned
outwards and dissipated by such devices as the Two Minutes Hate, and the speculations which might possibly induce a
sceptical or rebellious attitude are killed in advance by his early acquired inner discipline. The first and simplest stage in the discipline, which can be taught even to young children, is called, in Newspeak, CRIMESTOP. CRIMESTOP means the faculty of stopping short, as though by instinct, at the threshold of any dangerous thought. It includes the power of not grasping analogies, of failing to perceive logical errors, of misunderstanding the simplest arguments if
they are inimical to Ingsoc, and of being bored or repelled by any train of thought which is capable of leading in a heretical direction.
CRIMESTOP, in short, means protective stupidity. But stupidity is not enough. On the contrary, Orthodoxy in the full sense demands a control over one’s own mental processes as complete as that of a contortionist over his body. Oceanic society rests ultimately on the
belief that Big Brother is omnipotent and that the Party is infallible. But since in reality Big Brother is not omnipotent and the party is not infallible, there is need for an unwearying, moment-to-moment flexibility in the treatment of facts. The keyword here is BLACKWHITE.”
#OrwellWasRight
#OrwellianNightmare
#Orwell1984
#USviolationsOfTheUNcharter
#FreedomForJulianAssange
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