#for me a reunification would just be so terribly sad

[not-poignant]

Did Bunnymund ever figure out a cure for the numbing serum in Golden Age? And if he did, do you think Jack ever reunited with his parents?

I doubt he ever figured out a cure, honestly, though I'd say he kept working on it.

I never wanted Jack to reunite with his parents, and I also feel that the effects of the serum are completely irreversible within the normal lifespan, because they basically cause brain damage in the emotional processing centres of the brain. It was a horrible thing to do by a horrible despot of a person. The only person who ever really recovered was Pitch, and that's because he was given a moderated dose and had hundreds of years to recover, something that people who aren't golden soldiers don't have the luxury of.

And I don't think Jack would want to reunite with his parents. I remember talking about this in the comments, but like, that reunification would go something like 'hi complete strangers who don't recognise me, I'm here to tell you that your daughter is dead, but you wouldn't recognise her either, and I'm the only one who ever loved her throughout her life after I was taken to the creche.'

For Jack, that's not a fun thing to imagine, it doesn't bring him comfort, warmth, or a sense of 'family' to think about. His found, true family is Pitch, Eva, Anton, Flitmouse, Mihael, Seraphina, and the rest of them that formed around him and love him. It's not the two people who don't remember him and cannot love him. And if they could, they'd have to process the horrific traumatising loss of their daughter, and confront the horrific trauma that Jack himself had to endure, there's no real... /thinks/ I deliberately didn't want there to be a path back to those people for Jack. If he did it, I doubt it would bring him closure or happiness so much as like 'okay I did it, I met them, I have no idea who they are as people.'

There's something Pitch says in the story, which I think is true, though brutal:

‘Is that what you imagine, Jack? That you will reunite with them, somewhere in the peasant outreaches, and they can show you their impoverished farm and their empty lives and that you would all be happy together when you told them that your sister was taken by the Darkness? Is that the plan now? To go back to them and see for yourself how the numbing drugs have affected them and their love for you? It happens, you know. You could try your luck at it. Perhaps they’ll even recognise you. Except – would you even recognise them? Do you remember them at all?’

For some of us, found family is incredibly important. Sometimes there is no going back, and those stories are important (for me personally anyway!) to tell. But also, many of the crimes of Gavril are horrible, irreversible, and represent the monstrosity of his totalitarian approach to ruling a country. Those shouldn't be 'erased,' imho, that's something the nation has to grapple with, confront, and face together. I'm sure Eva and Toothiana will work on ways to support the parents and other folks affected by the numbing serum, but the reality is generations of poorer folk were basically lost and...there's real gravity to that.

That's pretty harsh of me I know! I guess I just...didn't want that for him? And I've noticed as a writer that if I really don't want something to happen, I try and eliminate as many paths to the thing as possible, partly because otherwise I think Jack would have already done it by now otherwise. :D

[telehxhtrash]

How important do you think religious imagery and themes will be in the future of HxH? I know you've pointed it out with Kurapika and mentioned some stuff in that last ask, but now I'm super curious. I might be misremembering, but wasn't the testing gate at the Zoldyck mansion also called "the gate to hell"?

I think religious imagery has always been important in HxH! There are a lot of things that are rooted in religious imagery, off the top of my head there’s Kurapika with a lot of his religious symbolism, there’s also Ging that encompasses buddhist philosophy, obviously Chrollo Lucilfer and his 12 apostles followers, Hisoka posing as the “Judas”, I think I read that Chimera Ant Arc’s story was based on something religious but I honestly can’t remember where I read this so take this with a grain of salt, there’s the whole Gon being reborn and saved by Alluka, Togashi also represented the Royal Guards on one of the volume covers using religious imagery (i can’t find the post i’m sorry!!) and the most important one to me so far is the entire Succession War arc that’s just religious symbolism galore, from Morena to Tserriednich to the general plot itself.

I promise I’ll make a post on this because I really really want to go over this, but I think religious imagery and themes are gonna be extra important this arc. I’m pretty sure the plot of succession war follows so closely St Brendan’s story that it’s possible to foreshadow the plot and outcome of the arc based solely on the religious imagery Togashi used. I don’t have the brainpower to go into detail rn, but if everything goes to plan, I should be able to finish writing it soon. But based on a few things, I think religious themes will help us predict the plot of succession war!! 

I think religious imagery and themes in HxH are meant to sort of highlight the narrative of the story : healing, second chances, growth, rebirth. I think Togashi is picking religious symbolism to sort of elevate those themes and emphasize them if that makes sense? Religious imagery is usually used in HxH as a way to highlight the positive message of the narrative. It’s sort of like a second layer to emphasize the message of the story to me. Idk if that makes a lot of sense HAHA but yeah that + it’s also there to sort of be a basis for the plot of the current arc. But once again, if my theory on Kurapika’s fate is right (i promise ill write the post cuz i probably dont make a lot of sense rn), then the symbolism would be here to highlight the narrative of rebirth.

As for the testing gates, yes!! The guide says the gates are also called “the Gates to Hades”, and in japanese, 黄泉への扉, “yomi he no tobira”, “the gate to Yomi”. In Japanese culture, from my quick wikipedia search, Yomi is the land of the dead. It’s not Heaven, it’s not Hell, it’s the Underworld. This is where the deads go, and unlike Hell, they aren’t punished for their past sins, they just.... keep on rotting there forever. It’s the place where you go after you die no matter your past actions. The deads keep on living a gloomy and sad existence forever. So it’s not really religious imagery, but sort of cultural imagery? Kind of like Tanabata! I think it was meant to highlight that the place Killua is going back to is a dark terrible place, where if he stays, he’ll live a meaningless, gloomy, empty and aimless life forever. This denomination is meant to enhance the idea that the Zoldyck Mansion is a terrible place where Killua would keep on rotting forever.

I’m not too knowledgeable on this since literally all I’m saying about Yomi comes from a 10min google search but it’s interesting to note that this idea of reunification is also present in Yomi’s lore, since in legend, the god Izanagi undertook a journey to Yomi in hopes of retrieving the goddess Izanami that was rotting there. So culturally speaking, when Togashi compares the Zoldyck Mansion to Yomi, he also redirects japanese readers to this lore and this idea of someone undertaking a journey to bring someone else back from there, just like what Gon is doing!

Also, I’m not good at Greek mythology at all, so this is also the result of my googling skills once again, but it’s worth mentioning that Yomi is oftentimes translated as Hades, and Viz used this translation.

So this also takes us to Greek mythology, where there’s also a similar story involving Hades and a journey to the underworld... Orpheus and Eurydice’s story. I’ll let you read on the details if you’re unfamiliar with it, but basically, Orpheus took at trip to the underworld to save his wife Eurydice. Anyone would’ve died doing so, but Orpheus is protected by the Gods and managed to make it through various life-threatening situations. So while Orpheus didn’t manage to save Eurydice, there are still some elements that are similar to Gon and Killua’s situation in their story. It’s also funny to note that the greek underworld is kept by a three headed dog, Cerberus, just like the Zoldyck Mansion is protected by Mike, a huge dog, and there are also 2 other dogs guarding the Mansion. (seen on chapter 323)

And I love that this is intertwined with the Tanabata legend as well, the reunification of lovers.

So I’d say when it comes to the testing gates, Togashi played with japanese lore and greek mythology to reinforce the idea of taking a journey to save someone and being reunited after a rough journey. He managed to weave together Greek lore with the notion of the Underworld and Orpheus & Eurydice’s story and Japanese lore with Izanagi’s journey to save Izanami from Yomi and finally Tanabata, the legend of two lovers reunited by birds (Canary :3) after being separated.

I got kind of carried away but I guess my point is that Togashi loves to play with cultural and religious references to bring a second layer and emphasize his narrative, which is something that I greatly admire!! 

Thank you so much for this ask I learned a lot about Japanese and Greek lore, so this was fun !! This was a bit messy so I’m thinking of maybe properly writing a post on the lores of the testing gates and how they intertwine because this is very interesting. I had no idea this was a thing until you sent me this ask and I had to look at Japanese scans!! So thank you!! I’ll definitely write my post on Kurapika & religious imagery, and I might put together this post on Yomi, the Unwerworld and Tanabata. Ty for this ask I hope i replied to your question! 

[unibrowzz]

Mod (finally) reviews all 67 winners of the Eurovision Song Contest Part VII (FINALE)- The 2010s

And we’re on the home stretch! Just 10 songs left now.

The 2010s stands as the only decade I watched live and the only decade I haven’t yet rewatched, mainly because I have no interest to. I’ve already seen the contest anyway, if a song didn’t stick with me then, it probably won’t now.

Also prepare for some hotter than usual takes, mostly down to the 10s contests being the most well known due to recency bias. I can say whatever the Hell I want about older contests and what songs I despise from there, but one non-positive comment about Euphoria and suddenly about five butthurt anons appear in my inbox telling me why I’m wrong.

But without further ado, let’s finish these off!

2010: Satellite

Country: Germany

Artist: Lena Meyer-Landrut

Language: English

Thoughts: I used to defend this song a lot, for some reason. I used to get super defensive when people dismissed it as a cheap lazy pop song that shouldn’t have won over (insert song here, but let’s be real here, 99% of the time it’s Turkey's equally cheap lazy emo rock song) and that it robbed so many better entries, blah blah, you know the drill. And I think it’s because it was the first winner I saw as I started properly watching in 2010, so I didn’t want to shit all over the winner that introduced me to the contest. Or maybe it’s that it makes me really nostalgic, or something to that effect. But, dear God, why did I? It’s so… not worth it. I appreciate it for being a much less instrumental-heavy winner, with its skippy, snappy beat and bouncing vocals which sound closer to plain talking than actual singing, but… How many times were the lyrics ran through GoogleTranslate before they were finalised? What’s with the janky, overexaggerated fake-English accent? Why does the singer look embarrassed to be a part of this? Why was this written?  And how the FUCK did it win? It’s so weird and awkward to listen to. It’s the song equivalent of trying to make small talk with that one classmate you never talk to because they’re shy and boring. It’s like listening to an old person laugh half-heartedly at their not-that-funny old person joke. It’s canned laughter in a mediocre sitcom. It’s just an awkward, painful to listen to song that’s made all the more painful by the fact that Germany has sent much better songs that easily could have replaced this as their one post-reunification winner.

Was this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what was? Spain- Daniel Diges- “Algo Pequeñito”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 60th

2011: Running Scared 

Country: Azerbaijan

Artist: Ell and Niki 

Language: English

Thoughts: Look, this one isn’t as bad as people make it out to be. Doesn’t mean it’s good, or that I find it particularly good, but the worst winner of all time? Goodness no, it doesn't even come remotely close. What we have here is a mildly pleasant ballad duet song with a distinctive sad-boyband vibe. Like you can definitely hear the “X-Factor winner’s first cover song” energy just radiating off it from the first few lines. I suppose you could argue that that does make it feel a bit clinical and like it’s trying too hard to be a big hit, but come on, it’s not like this is the first winner like that. The singing is alright; better than half the singing that won in the 2000s anyway, and the male singer especially has a nice voice. The lyrics aren’t exactly poetry, sure, but again, other winners have terrible lyrics as well and don’t receive nearly as much hate as this one does. And… that’s it. Why all the hate? No idea, but I can only assume the people who declare this song to be the worst winner ever haven’t heard anything that won before 2010.

Was this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what was? Denmark- A Friend in London- “New Tomorrow”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 42nd

2012: Euphoria

Country: Sweden

Artist: Loreen

Language: English

Thoughts: Ugh. Listen. This is not a bad song. It’s decent, middle of the table, listenable, marketable, well sung, well performed, well shot. I must stress, this is not a bad song. But the best Eurovision song of all time? Absolutely not. Euphoria is one of the few winners I would describe as “overrated”, and that isn’t a term I use lightly (since it’s overused as Hell), because frankly, I don’t see what people see in this song. Hell, I forgot it completely until the 2012 voting, and further still until mid 2013 when a friend said he liked it. This song left that little of an impression on me that I completely forgot everything about it for a solid year.  And considering how many fans regard this to be one of the best, if not the best song to ever come out of the contest... that baffles me, I just can’t wrap my head around why so many people hold this song up on a pedestal and worship it like it was dropped from the hands of God himself. And I'm not sure if it's because this just isn't a genre I care about, or if it's because this was WAY back when I was a casual fan who didn't follow any of the songs or artists so didn't know who'd be the favourite going in like I do now, and therefore didn’t know to keep an ear out for this one. Or maybe you have to be piss drunk and at a nightclub to really feel the impact of this song. This song triggers absolutely no response from me other than “Oh, a Eurovision song”. I feel no emotion towards it aside from complete indifference. I can’t deny that this song made an impact, it just… didn’t make an impact on me.

Is this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what is? Spain- Pastora Soler- “Quedate Conmigo”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 40th

2013: Only Teardrops

Country: Denmark

Artist: Emmelie de Forest

Language: English

Thoughts: Let me ask you a question: What do you get when you sandwich an otherwise decent pop song between two of the most iconic and recognizable winners of the decade? You get this. Only Teardrops is a weird, weird winner to me. On one hand, the fandom acts like it might as well not exist, you go straight from Euphoria to Rise Like a Phoenix, who cares about that filler song which came between them. On the other hand, I know a lot of people who really like it, yet all of them are either very casual fans or not fans at all. So this makes me feel like this song’s main weakness is that it’s too mainstream, at least for Eurovision fans. What are my thoughts? It depends. For one, I enjoy this song a LOT more than Euphoria; I always have done and I’m not ashamed or afraid to admit that. I find this song has a lot more personal appeal, particularly a much bigger finale in my opinion, and being surrounded by people who like this song has admittedly kept me fond of it. BUT, I still wouldn’t necessarily call it a favourite of mine. Maybe a favourite of the 2010s, but not overall. At the end of the day, it’s a little too generic, a little too normal, a little too like every other song you’d hear on the radio. It’s not really a song I find myself coming back to again and again and loving every time, it’s the song I stick on to shut my family up when they want to listen to Eurovision music and I’m too shy to show them the songs I actually really like. It's just a decent song that's unfortunate enough to be stuck in between two more iconic winners, doomed to be little more than the answer in a pub quiz question.  And even though I do prefer this one to some of those icons, and don’t really have anything else to say about it, it’s just enjoyable yet kind of bland.

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or Iceland

If no, what is? Iceland- Eyþór Gunnlaugsson- “Ég á Líf”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 16th

2014: Rise Like a Phoenix

Country: Austria

Artist: Conchita Wurst

Language: English

Thoughts: Ah yes, the man who made the entire continent of Europe collectively forget what a drag queen is. What a shitshow that night was. But I'm not here to talk about that, I'm here to rate/say some things about the song, and honestly? This is arguably the most vocally impressive winner from the 2010s. Seriously, there’s nothing I can fault here; this guy’s got some serious pipes. Every time I go back to it I just end up blown away by how powerful and raw this song is. And obviously good vocals alone can’t carry a song forever, otherwise I would’ve had nicer things to say about the early 70s and mid 90s, but with this song the vocals go hand-in-hand with the gimmick. Without the powerful vocals this would just be a knockoff Bond theme sung by a drag queen with a beard, like it’d just be another sensationalist gimmick song to throw onto the pile with all the other gimmick songs. But with the good singing, this has the distinction that it’s a gimmick entry that still had every right to win because the singer was actually competent. Also unlike the 70s winners this one actually has strong emotions tied to it rather than it just being a bunch of pretty French words, so there’s that.

Is this my personal winner for this year? This or the Netherlands tbh

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 17th

2015: Heroes

Country: Sweden

Artist: Måns Zelmerlöw 

Language: English 

Thoughts: Fun fact: I was so bitter this won that I stormed off before the voting was done and cried in my room over it. I hated everything about this song: I hated how Sweden won just three years after their last win, I hated how the staging was just BEGGING people to vote for it, and I ESPECIALLY hated how it beat out the televote favourite because the juries were too busy wanking off to this one to care about anything else. I just despised everything about this song, and it turned me into an obnoxious jury-hater for a solid year.  And yes, I'm extremely embarrassed of all that because honestly this song is fantastic. I would go as far to say it's my favourite Swedish winner, maybe not one of my favourite Swedish entries but definitely my favourite winner of theirs. Everything about this is just so appealing to me, from the brooding intro and vocals, to the lyrics, to the staging, my GOD the staging! It’s one of the best performances of the contest to date; It's impressive without being tacky or try-hard, he interacts with his background, and that little doodle boy character he’s created is adorable. I just love this performance, it’s so mesmerising.

Was this my personal winner for this year? Not then, is now

If no, what was? Then? Serbia- Bojana Stamenov- “Beauty Never Lies”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 11th

2016: 1944

Country: Ukraine

Artist: Jamala

Language: English, some Crimean words

Thoughts: I mean… it’s good until she starts singing. Now I am by all means not an advocate for bringing back the old language rule, but songs like this sure as Hell make me one. This should have been left entirely in Crimean. Simple as that. The English lyrics are bloody awful, no way to sugarcoat it, and absolutely annihilate the potential this song is otherwise seething with, because the instrumental to this song is fantastic and the chorus and climax give me goosebumps. The performance at the contest was chilling as well; a perfect blend of both simple yet flashy staging to set up a really uneasy atmosphere that compliments the song perfectly but, God, the lyrics are bad, man, especially for such a serious song about a personal topic.  That said, it's still the only song in the 2016 top 3 that seemed winner-worthy, unlike Australia's obvious Jurybait and Russia's obvious Telebait. So… it has that. 

Was this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what was? France- Amir Haddad- “J’ai Cherché”

Personal ranking (out of 67): 57th

2017: Amar Pelos Dois 

Country: Portugal 

Artist: Salvador Sobral 

Language: Portuguese (Translation: “Both of us”)

Thoughts: I still question why it took Portugal until 20-fucking-17 to even reach the top five, but that's a rant for another day.  Not that this is a rant, far from it. Anybody who knows me knows that I love this song after all, and that it’s one of the few winners I remain rather defensive of, though that’s mostly down to the amount of hate this song and its singer receive.  I will defend Sal and his hot takes on pop music until I die. Now I’ll admit, this song surprised me in more ways than one. Namely by actually winning the televote; given how this song has split opinions clean down the board as to whether it’s spine-tinglingly beautiful or soul-crushingly boring, I was expecting it to come mid-table in the televote whilst some other country swiped first. Yet somehow it managed to stomp the televote just as hard as it stomped the jury vote. I guess I wasn’t the only person this struck a chord with after all. Also, I can’t be the only one who thinks this is a perfect dance song? Like it’s great for ballroom, or contemporary. It’s so dreamy and flowy, and I usually HATE dreamy flowy songs, yet this one just resonates with me for some reason and I’m not sure why.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Yes

If no, what is? N/A

Personal ranking (out of 67): 4th

2018: Toy

Country: Israel

Artist: Netta Barzilai

Language: English, some chicken noises, cringe

Thoughts: And here we have another case for bringing back the language rule, because if this song had a Hebrew version I would 100% listen to it more often. When I heard Israel was sending an, ahem, "feminist anthem" about the #MeToo trend on twitter, my first reaction was "ew". When I heard it was the favourite to win, my reaction was also "ew". And when I heard the song for the first time? "Hm, not as bad as I thought."  And also "ew". This song is just embarrassing. I’m embarrassed listening to it, I’m embarrassed watching it, and I’m embarrassed when someone mentions it when I’m trying to convince them Eurovision actually has good music. You can just tell from the first few lines that it was written by middle aged men trying to shill themselves out to gullible young women who think listening to a song by some Israeli DJ “empowers” them.  And let’s be honest here: “empowering” is just media speak for “shit”. The only thing stopping me from putting it at the VERY bottom is the instrumental and performance because without the cringy lyrics you’re left with a pretty good club song, and I swear to God Netta Barzilai could sell herself sneezing for 3 minutes. If “Toy” had been entirely in Hebrew I would’ve given it a pass, and maybe a cheeky vote or two.  But, alas, that was not to be.

Was this my personal winner for this year? No

If no, what was? Italy- Ermal Meta & Fabrizio Moro- “Non mi Avete fatto Niente”

Personal ranking (out of 67):  64th

2019: Arcade

Country: The Netherlands

Artist: Duncan Laurence

Language: English

Thoughts: You know, in my 9 or so years watching the contest, I don’t think I’ve ever felt genuinely ecstatic watching a song win. Most of the time I either feel neutral (most of them) or a more general, content kind of happy (2014 and 2017). Like I’ve never let out a shout of joy and slid on my knees across my living room floor in sheer, blind happiness. But that’s what I did with “Arcade”. I’m not really sure why that is because, I must confess, it wasn’t my personal winner of the night, and, looking back, I preferred other songs, but… God, I just can’t explain how overwhelmingly happy I was when this song won. I’m not sure if it’s because I was alone or if I was rooting for this deep down (or if it’s because it was between this song or fuckin’ Sweden again). But that’s by the by. How’s the song? Honestly? Really good. One of my favourites of this decade, if I’m honest. It’s the kind of song that’s grown on me a lot since the night of the contest; even though it wasn’t my favourite song from 2019, I’m not mad at all at it winning.

Is this my personal winner for this year? Honestly I had about 10

If no, what is? I could list them if you want

Personal ranking (out of 67):  6th

[seoulfulcity]

July 27, 2018: Take Me to North Korea

안녕하세요,

Before I left Los Angeles, my mom and the International Studies advisor both reminded me to not do anything stupid and visit North Korea.

With that said, this is a blog on when I visited the North-South Korean border.

I have been planning to visit the Demilitarized Zone (DMZ) ever since I chose South Korea as the country I wanted to study in. North Korea had been the hot topic of discussion recently because of Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un's heated exchange of words via Twitter and the recent Winter Olympics in Pyeongchang, South Korea when the two Koreas marched under one flag.

On April 27, the Inter-Korean Summit happened where both Kim Jong Un and Moon Jae In crossed the border - Kim Jong Un stepped into South Korea and Moon Jae In stepped into North Korea.

On June 12 was the first US-North Korea Summit in Singapore when Donald Trump and Kim Jong Un finally met and talked about denuclearization of North Korea.

So, yes. North Korea had been under the spotlight throughout the year, and when's the best time to visit the border than being in South Korea?

I chose to visit the DMZ on July 27, the 65th anniversary of when both Koreas signed the Korean Armistice Agreement in Panmunjom to cease armed forces, putting an unofficial end to the Korean war.

I was supposed to go with Florence, Wendelyn, and Esther, but everybody woke up late. Florence woke up a good half hour before the start of our trip under Seoul City Tour; Wendelyn and Esther did not wake up at all, despite of our never-ending attempts of messaging and calling them.

I waited outside Itaewon Station Exit 1, the exit that both Wendelyn and Florence both told me to write. The van picked me up and waited for five minutes until Florence arrived. We drove for about ten minutes before transferring to a bigger tour bus at 8:30 AM.

We drove by the Imjin River where the tour guide showed us why the edges of the streets were fenced by telling us the story of the Blue House Raid or the January 21 Incident in 1968.

1960s South Korea was just a big mess. The Vietnam War was ongoing where both the US and South Korea were sending troops to support South Vietnam, then-North Korean leader Kim Il Sung was finding ways to reunify the Korean peninsula under his rule, and then-South Korean president Park Chung Hee seized power after the 1961 coup-d'état forcing the democratically-elected Yun Bo Seon out of office, ending the Second Republic's parliamentary system giving rise to a military government under Park Chung Hee.

Now, Kim Il Sung hand-picked 31 soldiers - the best North Korea could offer - with one goal in mind: kill Park Chung Hee. Since the United States was preoccupied sending military troops to support South Vietnam during the war, it was in Kim Il Sung's best interest to take over South Korea at this time and reunify the peninsula under his leadership.

Kim Il Sung said that by killing President Park, it will cause political chaos in South Korea and North Korea would go in to aid and provide support to their "South Korean brethren".

Well, the 31 hand-picked North Korean soldiers, called Unit 124, successfully crossed the North-South Korean border and swam across the Imjik River into Seoul. They were close to getting into the Blue House, but we all know they did not successfully kill Park Chung Hee and reunite the peninsula under Kim Il Sung, right? Please read more about the Blue House Raid because it's very interesting.

We reached the city of Paju, just south of Panmunjom, and parked at Imjingak, a park where the Bridge of Freedom lies. There was an old train on the track which was used by the North Koreans who were repatriating into South Korea during and after the Korean War. The area surrounding the bridge and the train were covered by the South Korean and reunification flags wishing for a united Korea one day, so the separated families can reunite once again. There also stood Mangbaeddan, an altar where Koreans can go and pay their respects and honors to their families who stayed in North Korea after the war.

After Imjingak, we drove to the Third Infiltration Tunnel. It is one of the four known tunnels dug up by North Korea to infiltrate into South Korea for a surprise attack on Seoul. There is said to be up to twenty tunnels running from North Korea to South Korea, though only four have been discovered. The tunnels can accommodate up to 30,000 armed men every hour, and all four discovered tunnels lead up to the capital city of Seoul.

Upon discovery of the third tunnel, North Korea denied the allegations and said it was part of a coal mine even though the tunnels are granite, which is igneous in origin (coals would be found in stones of sedimentary in origin). The tunnel was also found to have been sprayed with black paint to make it look like coal.

We were required to leave our belongings in the lockers and had to go through security to make sure no electronics were brought in. We had to climb down a 350-steep slope to get to the tunnel that crosses the North-South Korean border with helmets on. Upon reaching the third tunnel, the ceilings were wet with water and could only accommodate people who were within five feet tall - compared to South Koreans, North Koreans are noticeably shorter due to malnourishment. We walked until we reached the end to peak at the North Korean end of the tunnel, which was inaccessible to visitors, then we had to climb back up the same 350 meter-steep tunnel.

After the tunnel, went across the park to watch a movie on the Korean War, the Korean Armistice Agreement, the discovery of the four tunnels, and the booming country of South Korea. The topic of reunification to reunite the separated families and for a peaceful peninsula echoed throughout the film.

After the film, Florence and I took pictures with the DMZ sign and a reunification statue that depicted an Earth split in two with the Korean peninsula on both half. Men, women, and children are pushing the halves to make Earth whole once again.

After the visit to the tunnel, we drove up the Dorasan Observatory, which is the closest point of South Korea to North Korea. In the observatory, the visitors could see Kijong-dong, the North Korean Propaganda Village. The village was established in the 1950s, showcasing North Korea as rich and well-established, as an attempt to lure North Korean defectors and South Koreans to go to the North. South Korea built a flagpole on its side of the demarcation line, and North Korea retaliated by building a taller one next to the Propaganda Village.

The Flagpole War started where both countries decided to beat each other for the tallest flagpole, where South Korea finally decided to end it and have North Korea win. For over a decade, the North Korean flagpole was the tallest in the world, until Azerbaijan established a taller flagpole in National Flag Square in 2010.

From Dorasan Observatory, the visitors can also take a glimpse of the Kim Il Sung statue and can also take pictures with South Korean soldiers patrolling the area.

We bumped into Esther, who's touring in a different time schedule with us. Wendelyn was taking the late afternoon tour after waking up later than Esther.

We, then, headed to Dorasan Station, a train station established in 2002 by Korail that would start working once the peninsula is reunited.

Dorasan Station has a line that would lead to Pyeongyang, although the main purpose of the station right now is to instill hope for a future reunification. The station is very reminiscent of Incheon International Airport and Seoul Station, equipped with information desks, waiting area (much similar to Seoul Station), a marquee that showed the train schedule, and an entrance to the train that would make a trip to Pyeongyang.

We bought commemorative train tickets to Pyeongyang before heading out.

After the trip to Dorasan Station, we stopped by a ginseng place where an Indonesian woman talked to us about the benefits of ginseng and lead us to a room that sold different forms of ginseng, which brought terrible flashbacks of my time in Beijing with the fake tour Simi and I ended up with.

We were dropped off at City Hall right after, close to Gyeongbokgung and Namdaemun Market, where Florence and I walked around under the 110-degree weather.

We wanted to wait for Sophie, who was at Namsan Tower, to eat with her at Chanyeol's Viva Polo, but she wasn't able to, so both Florence and I settled for naengmyeon at Yukssam Naengmyeon (육싼 냉면) at Namdaemun, before heading back to Anam around 3 PM.

It was an educational day, although I was sad I did not get to meet with Sophie one last time since my train ride to Busan was later that night. Maybe I will see her next time, maybe when I book a trip to Vienna, Austria? Until then!

고마워요, Chris 「크리스」

P.S. I woke up craving bulgogi and kimchi today. I really miss Seoul. We would still role-play on the Kakao group chat about meeting in front of Frontier for a meal - Matt would ask to borrow my shaving cream, and we would pretend to plan on picking Valentino and Peter up from their rooms.

[tindang]

Nico!

3/28/21- It's been a week out from my visit to the emergency department at MGH. Blisters have formed since then, flowering from the red/brown patch of skin on my left thigh, where I had spilled boiling water in a terrible accident. I was in a lot of pain yesterday, but I woke up today to shrunken blisters and pruritus in-and-around the area. I'm sad to miss Palm Sunday mass and to have spent the whole weekend room bound. I've been trying to find some positives, but life has not been too kind lately. I'm back in a state of rollercoaster emotions and I'm waiting to get off.

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

4/5/21 - Deviating from the Ideal: U.S. Migration Policies in the Context of Rawlsian Principles of Justice

In "Aliens and Citizens: The Case for Open Borders", the philosopher Joseph Carens begins his argumentation with the following epigraph:

Many poor and oppressed people wish to leave their countries of origin in the third world to come to affluent Western societies...[and] there is little justification for keeping them out.

He goes on to examine three distinctive political theories--Nozickean, Rawlsian, and utilitarianism--and applies them to the issue of immigration. Though distinct, Carens finds that all three approaches evince the moral failures of militarizing borders and restricting the movement of peoples, suggesting that a world without borders is one that respects the idea of moral equality. 

I found Carens's Rawlsian argument most compelling, insofar as it goes furthest in laying the framework for thinking about this issue transnationally. He does this in two ways: first, by arguing that people in Rawls’s “original position”--a tabula rasa -esque scenario in which people first come together to decide how they wish to be governed--would consent to principles of equal liberty and social redistribution if cloaked under a “veil of ignorance” that erases distinctions like race, class, sex, and most pointedly, national origin; and second, by refuting objections to the application of the Rawlsian veil to global contexts (Rawls had only intended for the original position to apply to certain societies with a “particular understanding of moral personality”, not all). 

I posit that the analytical power of Rawl’s original position, as it is applied to transnational affairs, comes from the tensions inherent in upholding principles of equal liberty in real-world settings. Of course, Rawls had predicted such conflict, and sought to address it by drawing distinctions between ideal and non-ideal theory: in ideal theory one assumes that people will abide by the principles chosen in the original position, even after the “veil of ignorance” is lifted; in nonideal theory, one considers the historical and human behavioral challenges of staying true to original-position precepts, which is more reflective of everyday problems and situations. I believe that these tensions between ideal and non-ideal theory serve as useful tools for critiquing restrictive U.S. migration policies. By exploring the deviations from ideal theory--in the context of U.S/Mexico border policies--towards the practicalities of non-ideal praxis, I hope to reify my understanding of border issues and justify (to myself) Carens’s conclusion, that there is little justification for restricting immigration.  

It is no surprise that current U.S. immigration and border policies fall far from the ideals of liberty envisioned in the original position. The question has always been how did we get here? The answer most likely predates any explanation that the Enlightenment might afford us, lying deep in the consequences of American settler colonialism and chattel slavery. Though I acknowledge this history and its foundational impact on modern American society, let me first flesh out my understanding of the gradual legal push away from ideal theory--while remaining always fully aware that the law is but one avenue through which principles of white supremacy and racism are encoded. If we are to then start with the legal perspective for answering the question posed above, we might begin with the Supreme Court’s decision in the Chinese Exclusion Case (1889), which contains the nation’s very first declaration of national sovereignty over immigration and vested Congress with plenary power over such matters. Sarah Song, a law professor at UC Berkeley, traces the philosophical tradition undergirding this decision to ideas espoused by Swiss author Emer de Vattel, whose Les droit des gens (The Law of Nations, 1758) outlined the parameters of sovereignty in the case of international law. Vattel writes:

The sovereign may forbid the entrance of his territory either to foreigners in general, or in particular cases, or to certain persons, or for certain particular purposes, according as they may think it advantageous to the state. There is nothing in all this, that does not flow from the rights of domain and sovereignty.

In staking this claim, Vattel followed already established notions of the state as being like a “moral person,” first laid out by German jurist/philosopher Samuel von Pufendorf, and later further developed by German author Christian Wolff. This personification of the state sanctions it with “an understanding and a will of which it makes use for the conduct of its affairs”, namely, as Vattel reasoned, in the interest of its self-preservation and self-perfection. It’s worth noting that Vattel understood that this self-interest deviated from the ethos of being a “moral person”, which if taken to its logical conclusion with regards to the idea of “moral state(s)”, would result in a “universal republic” in which “a real friendship [would] be seen to reign among them” (II.12). Here, it is not lost on me that this utopian conclusion mirrors the conditions of Joseph Carens’s ideal theory--that is, a global community void of hierarchical distinctions. In this sense, Vattel’s swing towards non-ideal realism, defined by state self-interest, may be at the heart of today’s polemics over immigration.

Indeed, I believe this is so. Public anxiety re the economic burden of migrants on American social institutions and fair wage have led to communitarian objections to increased migration from both conservatives and social democrats--while attending a protest against the Trump administration in 2017, I fondly remember standing next to a supposed feminist who, while rallying against the now former president, also expressed a resolute “no” when the crowd began reciting “Immigrants are welcome here.” The fixation on self-preservation may explain far-right popularization of terms like “chain migration” in lieu of “family reunification,” and the 2019 revision of the public charge rule which would have expanded the definition of being a “public charge,” and would have thus restricted poorer immigrants from either being admitted into the U.S. or attaining Legal Permanent Resident status. And, not surprisingly, today’s fears were enshrined in law vis-à-vis other, past Court decisions that occurred soon after that seminal 1889 case: in Nishimura Ekiu v. United States (1892) and Fong Yue Ting v. United States (1893), the Supreme Court again expanded the U.S. government’s power over immigration, citing further elaborations of Vattel’s theory of sovereignty (Song 2017); within the latter decision, these two passages from The Law of Nations are cited in their entirety:

Every nation has a right to refuse admitting a foreigner into her territory, when he cannot enter it without exposing the nation to evident danger, or doing her a manifest injury. What she owes to herself, the care of her own safety, gives her this right; and in virtue of her natural liberty, it belongs to the nation to judge, whether her circumstances will or will not justify the admission of that foreigner. (I.230)

Thus also it has a right to send [asylees] elsewhere, if it has just cause to fear that they will corrupt the manners of the citizens, that they will create religious disturbances, or occasion any other disorder, contrary to the public safety. In a word, it has a right, and is even obliged, to follow, in this respect, the suggestions of prudence. (I.231)

In other words, the state, by virtue of its personhood and the rights accorded to moral persons, has the right to exclude those it deems dangerous to its self-interest. As many scholars have pointed out, the right to exclude is essentially a property right; and the commensuration of individual property rights to collective, state territorial rights has been the source of much debate (See Carens’s Nozickean argument for open borders).

All this is to say that the principles of state sovereignty that underlie American immigration policy were founded under non-ideal theory conditions, which privilege human interest over ideal theory egalitarianism. The effect of this philosophical turn cannot be overstated; because while it is one thing to erect borders and deny access in the name of self-interest, it is another to punish those seeking opportunity and/or asylum for similar reasons. 

To explain today’s punitive approach to immigration, it is incumbent on me to outline another ideal to non-ideal theory transition: This time, I mark as my starting point the Bracero Accord, a U.S./Mexico bilateral program that, between 1942-1964, facilitated over 4.5 million temporary labor contracts to male Mexican workers in an effort to redress previous, depression-era deportations of Mexican-American citizens and to address labor shortages that appeared during and after World War II. Though imperfect (the program was ultimately deemed exploitive), this bracero initiative may have came closest in realizing the tenets of justice that ideal theory conceptualized, formalizing (now questionable) protocols for far pay and anti-discrimination; that is, in setting aside the dehumanizing experience that braceros encountered, we might think of the legal protections granted to these workers, and the imperative that the U.S. government showed in trying to repair its relationship with Mexico, as a promise towards an ideal--a quasi- “veil of ignorance” that ended up being unrealistic, ineffective, and violent. So, it might be here within the context of the hopes of the Bracero Accord and the porous border through which hundreds of thousands of Mexican workers made their way each year that we locate our ideal beginning.

From this point, the rapid progression towards non-ideal theory, which again takes into account the “historical obstacles and the unjust actions of others” that seek to undermine liberty and justice, paradoxically began during the civil rights era of the 1960s, when a) the termination of the Bracero Program and b) amendments to the Immigration and Nationality Act effectively ended the legal and cyclical migration patterns of years past. Princeton sociologist Douglass Massey summarizes:

Whereas in the late 1950s, some 450,000 Mexicans had entered the United States each year as Braceros and 50,000 as permanent residents, by the late 1970s the Bracero Program was gone and legal visas were capped at 20,000 (Massey 2014)

A closed door, however, does not mean a locked one; notwithstanding new restrictions on migration, former braceros continued their northward journey through unauthorized channels, paving the way for what has become considered “illegal” migration. In his article, Massey provides this useful figure, which takes data from DHS to assess Mexican migration to the U.S. in the three categories shown below:

The noticeable inverse between trends in temporary labor migration and unauthorized migration (measured by the annual number of apprehensions divided by the number of Border Patrol officers, expressed per thousand) in 1964 reveals the unspeakable harms of supposedly benevolent updates to U.S. immigration policy. Despite the tapering of unauthorized migration since 1986, shown above, the wide-ranging consequences of the 1964 recategorizing of what were once “legal” guest workers to now “illegal” trespassers on the political, social, and individual levels of society deserves pause and reflection. 

At the broad level of the body politic, the rising number of annual border apprehensions in the mid-1960s effectuated closer federal scrutiny of the border. At the behest of political racketeers, members of the U.S. Border Patrol, and a changing landscape of public opinion surrounding undocumented migration, Congress enacted a litany of measures that further restricted entry: 1986′s Immigration Reform and Control Act (IRCA), while granting amnesty and Legal Permanent Resident status to 2.7 million former undocumented migrants--subject to conditions of learning English and seeking citizenship--criminalized undocumented hiring and signed off the first of a series of significant increases in appropriations for the Border Patrol; 1994′s Operation Gatekeeper militarized the busiest border sector in San Diegos (See also ‘prevention through deterrence’ strategy); 2001′s PATRIOT Act made it easier for the government to employ immigration rules to detain or deport non-citizens without resort to the lengthy procedural regulations of the criminal justice system (Akram 2006). Juliet Stumpf and others have mapped these measures to a phenomenon they call “crimmigration,” which describes the American merger of criminal and immigration law that has happened since 1875 when the first federal statute was passed to restrict immigration of Chinese women. Since then, Stumpf writes, “the relationship between immigration and criminal law has evolved from merely excluding foreigners who had committed past crimes to the present when many immigration violations are themselves defined as criminal offenses and many crimes result in deportation” (Stumpf 2006). Indeed, today, immigration prosecutions outnumber all other types of federal criminal prosecutions, including prosecutions for drugs and public order violations (See “Prosecution/Courts”).

Interwoven into the political and structural realignments of U.S. migration policy during this time was the effect that legal/illegal discursive shifts had on White Americans. As politicians seized on the expediency of showing strength against the "Mexican Menace” and “alien invasion”, and as journalists found success in characterizing undocumented border crossers as “illegals” set out to “inundate” American society and “swamp” its culture (Chavez 2001), it becomes easy to imagine the kind of social re-engineering that must have taken place: As Mae Ngai reminds us in Impossible Subjects: Illegal Aliens and the Making of Modern America, Mexicans were once considered legally white and enjoyed migratory privileges not afforded to Asian migrants (Ngai, 38, 2004); but, as UMASS-Amherst professor Moon-Kie Jung might say, racial differentiation happens when people come to hold schemas for “separating human populations by some notion of stock or collective heredity of traits” (Jung, 64, 2006). Viewed in the light of American genocide, slavery, colonialism and imperialism, the racialization of Mexicans based on notions of in/exclusion was par for the course. We might find then, within the border debates of the mid to late twentieth century, the seed of today’s social animus towards Latinx migrants, which has encouraged bias in enforcement of immigration law and (most likely) inspired Arizona’s Senate Bill 1070 (Read more about state/federal collaboration and interdependency when it comes to developing and enforcing immigration law in Judith Resnick’s “Bordering by Law”).

The human impact of these policy adjustments should not be forgotten, nor go unnoticed. For it is at the individual--and for some of my friends with undocumented parents, personal--level that federal immigration policies harm. This case is explicitly made in Jason de León’s The Land of Open Graves, which lays the blame for migrant deaths along the border squarely in the hands of the U.S. government. It is described in this podcast during which a university student talks about her experience growing up living in fear that her parents could be deported at any moment; and again, in the harrowing stories that undocumented child migrants have told, as documented by Valeria Luiselli in Tell Me How It Ends; and perhaps, more recently, in the iconic image of Yanela, the 1-year-old Honduran girl, who was captured crying for her detained mother. Between these examples, one thing is clear: U.S. immigration policies violate, if not the ideals of moral equality that America was founded on, then international human rights.

De Leon writes: “The benefit of the chronological distance from the pain and suffering of past migrations is that many Americans today have no problem putting nationality before humanity” (Leon, 26, 2015). In this blog post/essay, I make the case that this antipathy for life, or explicitly for the life of Others, has as much to do with historical myopia as it underlines the principles of self-interest that lie behind our legal and social interpretations. When people hear that undocumented migrant children are being separated from their families yet still defend the action as just since “They came into our country illegally,” I see this perverse rationalization as but a product of self-preservation. Mae Ngai has spoken about the consequences of normalizing such principles of sovereignty in immigration affairs, suggesting that it “generates the view that immigration is a zero-sum game among competitive nation-states” (Ngai 2004). Not only does this view fuel anti-immigrant resentment, it discourages us from seeing the moral worth of our neighbors and prevents us from coming together to form humane and bilateral coalitions for tackling transnational problems. 

Against the backdrop of U.S. human rights violation, and the radical transition away from the conceptions of justice laid out in Rawls’s original position, I remain cautiously hopeful that there will come a day when justice will be served. It might not happen during my lifetime, but I’ll be on the vanguard of this fight. 

[wildwiildhorses]

I've had multiple people who are not aware of my situation ask me for an explanation as to why I no longer have custody of my children. Tonight I am sitting here, hurt, in pain and longing for someone to hear my voice. After continuous court dates, public offenders pushing aside my concerns and worries, countless visits that were held from me, being accused of sitting back and allowing my daughter to be molested, being accused of personally causing my daughter post traumatic stress, judges who do absolutely nothing, it's hard not to be at the end of my rope and feel like my voice is not being heard. So I am going to do what I do best and write about it. So let's go back to the beginning. I am an addict. I am a recovering addict. I am a woman in recovery, with 22 months clean from any mind or mood altering substance. I work with a sponsor. I write steps. I have an incredible network of women, from all walks of life, that uplift me and support me and I do the same for them. I am a woman in recovery, I am a drug addict, I am also a mother. A mother of three bright, intelligent, creative, absolutely loving and caring individual little beings. And that's where it gets a little sticky. So there's a taboo in this society, right, that mothers have to be these upstanding, perfect PTA moms, who cook, clean, and uphold their motherly duties with a fucking smile plastered on our faces. We are to be seen, and not heard. God forbid we suffer from mental illness or substance abuse. God forbid we speak up about it, and admit that we are not perfect. I suffered in silence. After I had my first child, my body changed. My mind was different. My moods were out of control, and my thoughts were so wacky. I remember holding my infant daughter, tears streaming down my face, looking at this perfect little face, tiny hand wrapped around my finger, innocent and pure. And I thought to myself, what the fuck do I do now. At the time I was far from family. Almost three months later my mom passed away. That's when I leapt right off the bridge. When I say i lost my mind, I mean it. I never planned on becoming addicted to drugs or alcohol, but the disease of addiction had me wrapped up in a choke hold that was nearly impossible to get out of alone. I also suffered from manic depression and anxiety attacks that I tried self medicating before I even knew the type of demon I was dealing with. At first I was afraid to get honest and let people in, I tried hiding my addiction as best I could. I managed periods of abstinence, and did the best I could to raise my children with the resources I had. I took prescribed psych meds. My whole life was my children. My whole identity was wrapped up in being a mother, and my children. I didn't know better. In the midst of that their father is also an addict in recovery, so I was dealing his disease at times as well. My children are my heart, my soul, they fire me up and are the reasons why I never threw the towel in and took my own life. I got up and pushed threw life's battles for them. Did I put my children through some shit? Absolutely. They saw things no child should ever have to see. There were times when my disease ran rampant and their needs went unmet in the never ending search for drugs and the next high. It was complete and utter insanity. The only vices I knew was heavy drugs and alcohol to deal with life, to escape reality. Unfortunately my children there to witness most, if not all, of it. However, the stigma and judgement around this subject kept me trapped in shame. Pregnancy and motherhood doesn't replace or instantly rid addiction. And I was afraid the moment I spoke up and asked for help, asked for help in seeking treatment, for help in giving myself a break, a chance at a normal in healthy life would take my children from me. That they would be taken from me, and I'd be looked down at as a low down, scum bag, terrible mother. That it would be a never ending battle in getting my children back in my care. Well, I'm here to say that nightmare happened, that at 22 months clean, employed, and an active member of society, I wake up and go to sleep without my children a part of my life. But the Miracle is that I'm doing it! That no matter what happens in my day, I don't pick up a drug and run run run away from the pain like I have in the past. I'm dealing with it. I'm looking at it from a different perspective. I ask for help in getting through the day. I still get up and get on with my day, because another day clean is a day closer to being mommy full time again. I'm not writing this post for pity, or for anyone to feel pity for me. This is clarification. This is me standing up for myself, because I am worth something today, because I know my voice matters. The custody battle I am currently facing is ugly and its cunning, and I wouldn't wish it on my worst enemy. I am not allowed to be involved in my children's therapy because they are in a type of therapy where their father and I are PERPETRATORS because we have a disease that we have no control over. It is being so dragged out and manipulated. There is zero type of family reunification in place. I have not seen my middle daughter, Chloe, in MONTHS even though there is no court order in place for that decision. My daughter is locked in her bedroom in front of a television while I sit outside the trailer they live in with my other two children having a picnic that Chloe is not allowed to be involved in. My seven year old is being medicated against my wishes. The list could go on, and it shocking to me, so bad it keeps me up in anger and sadness most nights. The woman who cares for them is very sick. Remaining in principle I pray for her. That her heart softens, that her mind clears, that she awakens to the truth and the purpose of why she took my children in the first place. So mommy and daddy could get better, and take them home. Not for her to keep them, Medicate them, make up bullshit lies, go against judge orders, and throw my children around like they are pawns in some kind of sick game. I want to act out in anger, because I just can't believe she is doing what she's doing. But recovery has taught me that I can't change people, only the way I react to them. I am happier than I have been in a really long time with my life. Recovery has changed me. I am growing into the woman my God intended me to be. It has been a tough journey, and there were times I fought kicking and screaming, made bad choices and dealt with the consequences of my actions. But today I have learned things like SURRENDER. Principle. Honesty. Accountability, and most importantly faith and how to start loving myself. Each day that I don't pick up a drug my life progressively gets better and better. And I don't give up, and I don't stop fighting, or stop growing because of obstacles in my way. The goal is to have my children back, in God's timing, which I know is coming.....I BELIEVE it's coming....and I can't wait for the day to share this journey with my children.

[supporthosechi]

Our Third Visit

        Home again, whatever that means exactly.  Moving for most people is terrible because it involves putting a bunch of small things into larger boxes, carefully wrapping delicate items—heirlooms, art, instruments, televisions, anything which is not really designed to be packed into a van or truck or other vehicle and moved any distance.  It also can mean uprooting oneself, which obviously cuts both ways: no more favorite diner down the street, no more garden in the back, no window which catches the light in the morning just so, no paint on the walls which has been redone to suit moods or fancy, no immediate physical access to friends, family, and work left behind, all to be exchanged for comparable or better versions. 

        Our LeLe’s move shares variations on many of these characteristics.  She moves from maximum to medium-minimum security, from 2000 fellow inmates to 500, from a facility housing people who will live out their natural lives within to those who will be there nine years or fewer. She leaves behind an ex-partner to become “fresh meat” at a new facility.  She sacrifices friendships and a place where anything might be obtained to one where inmates are far more cautious and the state’s control is more ironclad.  She cannot bring her paints, for which her nails have (temporarily) suffered, but the kitchen has a fryer and not everything is made of soy, by dint of which her skin has immediately cleared.  She exchanges the promise of contract work to reduce her sentence, the possibility of working with animals or cosmetics for a kitchen job which pays next to nothing (from 15 to 20 to 30 dollars a month as she moves up the ranks, rapidly), and layoffs in prison labor which do not allow her sacrifice herself to menial labor to move towards swifter release.  It’s a new place and there’s not much going on.  We sometimes think of our jobs, our relationships, our apartments, the very contours of our lives as prisons, and it sometimes feels as if we move from one to the next.  Alisha Walker’s situation has in some ways actually gotten worse with this move, and I can tell, and it tears at me, which in turn makes me feel dumb, because it tearing at me does nothing for her.

          It is hard not to imagine what it was like for her arriving as we do, pulling through a proper town and into a different sort of stone and barbed wire hell.  There is a funny little hut with some tables at the entrance and I momentarily lose track of where I am, thinking: “this would be a nice spot for Alisha to sit with her family.”  The presence of the eerily immobile guard standing beneath a strangely folksy, wooden sign proclaiming “Staff Only” quickly dispels that notion.  These are places of utmost control and power over, and any person who leaves them not wanting to smash, kill, and destroy after serving their time is either an incredible model of restraint from whom we all could learn that lesson at least, or else has had their spirit so utterly broken that it must take many soul-searching hours to find themselves anew outside.  This being our first visit, we brace for different regulations and novel layers of arbitrary command to fight through to gain entry.  We are not disappointed in this expectation.  Our first time through the double glass doors finds paperwork and, interestingly, more people of color behind one desk than we saw at the entire facility at Logan.  We are informed that one of our membership’s attire will bar her from entering, despite it being identical to what she wore on our last visit, and so I run back to the car to find something else she might wear, to no avail.  After a trip to Target to buy something less revealing than thick black tights and a hooded sweatshirt (the dead cops t-shirt is fine, mind you), we make our second attempt, now being told that we need a second form of ID each, which I dutifully return to the car again and procure. The third try reveals that the hooded sweatshirt cannot be worn in, nor can my cardigan.  When we finally make it through the metal detector, we’re left to peruse the scenery outside the gendered shakedown rooms, then left again to our own devices until we realize we can walk into the visitation room on our own accord.  The distance from the visitor’s entrance to the building to the door behind which we’ll spend the day with our friend is perhaps thirty feet, entirely indoors. This is emblematic of an entirely different, arguably even more nefarious affect of the Decatur facility.

           The entry desk is opposite a giant set of plaques devoted to employees of the month and retirees, each of which is clearly hand-carved, burned, and painted as if we were in a backwoods hunting lodge such as one might find just a few miles away from town.  There is one calligraphed sign for “Warden,” one for “Guard on Duty,” and a variety of smaller ones for the time clock and a key rack. There is a hand-etched lithograph commemorating a mother and children reunification program, to help reintegrate ex-offenders, which is distastefully hung next to a prison-staff lotto game of some variety where officers can put in their names for a monthly drawing for cash prizes.  I’m uncertain which is the more disingenuous of the two.  The guards interact with us in a generally saccharine tone (“It’s always more complicated the first time, sorry.”), wholly opposite the gruff, put-upon affect of the previous set.  I detest them and their complicity in this system, and I do not want to muse on this being a better work environment than the previous facility, that they get on better with each other and perhaps even the inmates, I want them to feel the full gravity of the despicable institution in which they are cogs, and I want them in turn to be as miserable as possible as they help make this needless societal scourge for the women inside.

           But this is not the place for any more of this particular screed.  I am privileged to see and hug and laugh with and hold and update a friend who has gotten closer and closer, and I want to know she is as all right as is humanly possible in a place designed to rob her of her humanity at every turn.

           We know each other a bit better now.  Alisha knows which one of our troupe she’ll have wild parties with and learn about the tough edge of the anti-fascist struggle when she gets out, which one will take her to tiki bars and teach her about the subject position of being a queer femme and all its responsibilities and travails, and which one will laugh too hard in spite of himself at all her jokes and make sure she’s well-fed when she needs home cooking with her Chicago family (I’m the last one, if you were wondering).  LeLe is her usual combination of vivacious hilarity and genuine interest in what we are up to on the outside.  As has been the case throughout, some of our mail has gotten through (all her birthday cards) and some, infuriatingly and arbitrarily, has not (two of our members’ last letters), so there is some general updating to be done on our end.  But we are, as anyone would be, curious about our friend’s move, and it is safe to say Alisha is at least a little wistful for the, shall we say, woolier world of Logan, a place better suited to her bawdy, mischievous, and social personality. In short: our girl is bored.  But I am reminded more acutely in this visit also: our girl is easily but deeply funny.  She tells us about the first set of clothes she got at the new facility, the crotch and thighs stained (“somebody had like a toxic vagina or something!  Just burning through!”), and how she soon found that there was no fashion scene to keep up with here.  We comment on how clean the clothes she has now look, and how she has clearly lost back some weight from the—marginally—better food and find that she’s wearing her “special occasion” polo, pristine and white, and her pair of shoes from Logan that “nobody else got.”  At the old facility, she’d be altering clothes and getting the new garb whenever it came in or else risk ridicule, which would result in mouthing off, which consequently would result in something worse.  We comment this sounds like high school all over again, and Alisha’s eyebrows go up as she busts up laughing: “It’s worse than high school!  They’re criminals!  You get your ass beat!”  She tells us about the sort of pranks unique to a place where people are already on edge but used to certain routines which mark out the time.  There is the regular practice of lining up to receive prescription medication, which LeLe naturally thought was worth crying wolf at, at least once: “MEDLINE!”  The effected inmates, of which there were many, all piled out of their cells to line up for drugs, furious at the false alarm.  When one of the older inmates got especially angry, Alisha responded with the natural question of the nonplussed prankster: “You mad?  Are you big mad or little mad?” knowing full well this would be the end of the incident.  In this “minimum security” place, loaded with contradictions, the restrictions regarding fighting and sexual relationships are vastly harsher than the previous: either will get you cited and likely put in solitary confinement, in the hole.

           We ask her a few questions on behalf of a reporter friend who is doing a profile on Alisha, one of which we already have a sense of the sad answer to, but ask anyway and receive a classic LeLe answer.

           “How are you passing the time at Decatur?”

           (slight pause) “Dyking out!”

           She goes on to explain that she is “talking to” three people, but there are ten more interested.  We get into a discussion about how “everyone is gay” on the inside, because there’s nothing else to be.  As mentioned before, she has been separated from the partnership she had begun to build at Logan, which we assume would be difficult, but as it turns out, not for the reasons we guessed.  Suffice it to say, Alisha had her heart broken while she was still at the last facility, subjected to the same sort of amplified betrayals that anyone who offers up herself to another, who feels she has forged a connection through the harshest of obstacles, who takes a calculated risk knowing separation is immanent, would find themselves susceptible.  The classic coping mechanism of “needing to spend some time alone” is drawn into brutalist relief in a place like this where one is at once in a uniquely profound solitude and at the same time never more than ten feet from another person or fifty.  Alisha proclaims she is “manic depressive,” a diagnosis about which we are all concerned and interested in how it is made and treated in this environment.  It turns out that a formal diagnosis has never been made, and Alisha explains how there is no intermediate state for her, she is either hyperactive and excited, sociable to the point where she kids with the guards in the dining hall and pushes buttons just to get some kind of reaction from the subdued and tamped-down inmates, or else utterly depressed. Not just sad about her lost girlfriend, the absent opportunities which were available to her at Logan, her missing family and friends, the wrongful nature of the system which reminds her daily it would have simpler if she had just died that night, but a purer, simpler low, resultant from the basic realities of being a giant spirit and personality cordoned off and hidden away from the society she would choose and which would, I am certain, choose her. 

         The time is more real now, she says it and I can see it, because this will be the final destination before release.  She bargains with us for all the things she would give up to be able to step outside, or do anything positive for herself at all, and then we hit the crux of the matter.  Alisha tells us she is not used to—and at this point, there’s no reason to think she’ll ever get used to, which is fine—having to ask for everything, and being powerless to help those she cares about.  Among the myriad motivations for doing sex work, the at least potential command over one’s income, how often and what sort of work one wants to do, was clearly foremost for our girl.  Her mother, brother, sister, and new nephew need her, not simply financially or even emotionally but—and I do not use this term lightly—spiritually.  Anyone who meets Alisha and finds favor with her would comprehend this sort of need; she is magnanimous not because she is a saint but because it is clear that when she cares it is wholesale and not easily vacated. She will never become accustomed to be so dependent on, having to ask for things from, her mother, having to be shaken down to use the bathroom, finding nearly every step, of which there are only so many which can be taken anyway, requiring official and explicit sanction.

           It does no real good for me to soften the situation in these reflections: our dauntless survivor is hurting, each next forced renegotiation of her dignity and creative power taxing the underground wellspring of strength from which she draws.  The tiny gold cross she wears around her neck borders on satire; this is no cloister for the likes of Alisha Walker, and there’s no spiritual quest or fulfillment concealed within.  Just the full, indifferent weight of the state’s corporal fetish borne down on a young woman full to bursting with creative potency.  I, insignificant and impotent in the face of such forces, have two options, with only the first being at all viable.  Either LeLe will emerge from this place, sooner than later, intact and excited to make good on all the plans we make every next visit, or I do not want to go on existing in the world which not just allows but applauds her forced sacrifice.

           Alisha is disappointed that one of our members does not eat red meat, having raised cows in her youth and, accepting this reality, turns to me in mock-frustration:

           “Aaron, please tell me you eat steak.”

           I do, LeLe, I do, and I don’t know if it’s going to taste right again until you’re on the opposite side of the table from me for the first time.

-AH