#him if he could of prevented it by telling harvey his identity. by doing something different. by being more prepared or somehow

[martyrbat]

habeas corpus – detective comics #1086

(ID in alt!)

[runawayface]

Fic - Twin Con

Well, we made it... I never in a million years thought we'd make it here, but we did.  Harold's six month anniversary! 😂 I never could have guessed that this crack bullshit nonsense character would stick so much, but WOW he's stuck... and he's not going anywhere any time soon.  What started off as a dumb joke (and was almost destroyed because of it) has now become a comfort character and an all-time favorite OC and I couldn't be happier that Harold exists in the world.  It's pretty safe to say that this man's existence is helping me survive 2020.  Anyway, me being lame aside, I wrote a little something to celebrate Harold's 6-month anniversary.  It's not much and I really wish I could do more, but that just can't happen these days even though he deserves more.

Title: Twin Con

Word Count: 1,910

Summary: Harold receives a call from his twin brother Harvey on the morning of their birthday.

Notes: For those unfamiliar with Harold, he is the OC identical twin brother of Harvey, made up by @coindraws and myself.  Best place to find out more would probably be his first appearance, HERE.  Enjoy!

Winter 14, Year 3

On the 14th of Winter, Harold was awoken by the sound of his cell phone ringing.  He groggily sat up in bed, holding his arms out in a wide stretch as he yawned.  When he looked down at his phone, he saw his brother’s picture flash on the screen and Harold’s entire face lit up in excitement.  It had taken him a moment to realize that today was their birthday.

“Hello?!” Harold answered the phone excitedly.

“Good morning, Harold,” Harvey said pleasantly.  “I hope I didn’t wake you, I sometimes forget how early in the morning it is for other people.”

“No, no, you didn’t wake me,” Harold lied.  “Happy Birthday, little brother!”

“I could say the same to you,” Harvey chuckled.  “Happy Birthday, Harold.”

“I sent your present in the mail last week, I hope it’s arrived by now,” Harold replied, crossing his fingers even though Harvey couldn’t see it.

“Yeah, we received your package,” Harvey confirmed.  “Coin’s been holding onto it to make sure I don’t open it early.  We’ll be opening presents later this afternoon, I’ll call you once I’ve opened it to thank you properly.  Though speaking of birthday presents, that’s actually the reason I’m calling.”  Harvey’s tone of voice had suddenly become more serious and Harold could tell that this was something important.

“You don’t have to get me anything,” Harold said politely, though he couldn’t deny the swell of excitement he felt.

“So you know how you’ve been wanting to go to Twin Con for the last few years?” Harvey asked slowly.

Harold’s eyes widened and he nearly dropped the phone in surprise.  Twin Con… of course Harold knew Twin Con.  For nearly the last decade, Harold had been inviting Harvey to Twin Con every single year and every single year he was turned down.  Twin Con was an annual convention for twins, held at the Zuzu City Convention Center.  Harold had been trying, and failing, to convince Harvey to go with him as a means of reconnecting with each other, but Harvey hadn’t been ready for them to mend their relationship.

“Harvo… are you saying what I think you’re saying?” Harold asked slowly.  He was trying very hard not to get his hopes up, but at this point it was impossible.

“What I’m saying is… I bought us two tickets to go to Twin Con,” Harvey said quietly.

“No way!” Harold called out in excitement.  “Harvo, that… that really means a lot to me.”

Right away Harold could feel himself getting choked up with emotion.  He had to take a deep, calming breath to prevent himself from completely gushing to Harvey exactly how much this meant to him.  Ordinarily he didn’t mind making Harvey uncomfortable on the phone, in fact most times he did so on purpose for the entertainment value, but today was not the day to irritate Harvey.  Not after such a thoughtful gesture.

“It’s not until the first weekend of Spring so I regret that you’ll receive your gift a little late, but-” Harvey began, but Harold couldn’t help cutting him off in his enthusiasm.

“I don’t care!” Harold barrelled on.  “I’m just excited that we finally get to go together!”

“I know it’s something you’ve been wanting to do for awhile, now seemed like the best time to finally make it happen,” Harvey said kindly.

“Okay… so first thing’s first, I’ll need your measurements,” Harold began wildly.  He’d been planning this in his head for years and now his plans were finally coming to fruition.

“My… my measurements?” Harvey asked in confusion.

“For our matching suits,” Harold answered flippantly as though the answer were obvious.  “I don’t want to assume we have the same measurements.  I’m not quite sure we’re the same ‘round the middle, no offense.”

“Whoa, whoa, Harold, slow down,” Harvey said urgently, his voice shaking slightly.  “What’s all this about matching suits?”

“Come on, Harvo, we’re dashing and handsome identical twins, we have to show up making a statement!” Harold said excitedly.  “From what I understand, the identical twins usually show up in matching outfits and it’s a spectacle, lemme tell you.  I saw pictures from last year, there were these twin brothers from Ires City that showed up in matching suits and people were losing their minds.  Those guys didn’t even have mustaches, we’d blow those guys out of the water.”

“And why exactly do we need to impress anyone?” Harvey sighed.

“Well, we don’t necessarily need to impress anyone, but it’ll be fun!” Harold reasoned.  “Come on, you have to admit it’ll be fun to turn some heads as a pair of handsome, dapper, mustachioed identical twins walking around in the nicest tailored suits money can buy.”

“This is all sounding incredibly expensive,” Harvey added hesitantly.

“Don’t you worry about it, little brother,” Harold replied dismissively.  “You just let me handle that part.  I promise, you won’t regret it when you see how incredible we’ll look.  Trust me, all the identical twins show up in matching outfits, it’s the only gimmick we’ve got.  Might as well take advantage of the novelty.”

“If you say so,” Harvey sighed in resignation.

“Hey… thanks again for agreeing to do this,” Harold said seriously.  He could tell by Harvey’s sigh that maybe he was regretting this decision already.  “I know you’re not fond of big, social gatherings and I know the whole ‘identical twin schtick’ has never been your cup of tea either, but it means a lot to me that you’re going through with this.  All I’ve wanted for the last few years is just a chance to bond with my twin brother, have a good time together, and do something fun.  I’m glad we’re finally doing that after all these years.”

“I’m glad, too, Harold,” Harvey replied.  There was a sincerity to his voice that assured Harold that he meant it.  “And I’ll be sure to send those measurements over by the end of the week.”  Harvey chuckled slightly in amusement which only made Harold even more excited.

“I promise you won’t regret it,” Harold replied happily.  “You’ll look incredible in navy blue and pinstripes.”

“Of course it has to be blue,” Harvey sighed playfully.

“Of course,” Harold repeated with a giddy smile on his face.

From the background noise on the phone, Harold could hear Coin speaking to Harvey and he suddenly felt his stomach drop.  He was keeping Harvey from his wife on his first birthday as a married man.  As much as he enjoyed talking to his brother on their birthday, it was time to let Harvey go so that he could enjoy his special day with his wife.

“Well, I should let you go,” Harold remarked.  “I’m sure you and Coin have a lot of birthday plans for the day.”

“Not many, actually,” Harvey said, sounding pleased.  “It’s a pretty lowkey day today, but it should be nice.  It’s been so cold lately, the plan is just to have a movie marathon complete with blankets, hot tea, and take-out from the saloon.  If I’m being honest, it’ll probably be one of my better birthdays.”

“Sounds like a perfect day for you, Harvo, glad to hear it,” Harold said sincerely.

“And you?” Harvey asked curiously.  “I’m sure you’ve got the day booked solid.”

“Oh, you know me, just gonna see what the day brings,” Harold said casually.

“Knowing you, I’m sure it’ll be an exciting day,” Harvey replied in amusement.  “You never fail to find adventure and excitement, especially on your birthday.”

“That’s me,” Harold smirked.  “Adventure and excitement.  Anyway, I should let you go.  I’ll keep an eye out for those measurements.  We’ll be the best looking brothers there.”

“I’m sure we will be,” Harvey laughed, though he didn’t sound entirely convinced.  “Happy Birthday, Harold.”

“Happy Birthday, Harvey,” Harold replied happily.

When the call ended, Harold set his phone down on his nightstand and turned his gaze toward the empty side of his king sized bed.  With a sigh, he rose from the bed and shuffled across the room.

Once the bedroom door opened, Harold was immediately met with the scent of bacon and the crackling sound of eggs cooking in a pan.  Standing at the stove wearing one of Harold’s large pajama shirts was his girlfriend, Amy.

“Who was that?” Amy asked, turning her head toward Harold with a warm, affectionate smile.

“It was my brother,” Harold answered, crossing the room to join Amy in the kitchen.  As he approached her side, he pecked her lovingly on the cheek.

“Oh yeah, I guess it didn’t occur to me that it’s his birthday, too, what with you being twins,” Amy giggled.  “I hope he’s having a happy birthday today.”

“Sounds like it,” Harold replied with a genuine smile.  “He’s spending the day being lazy with Coin.  Movies, hot drinks, cuddles on the couch-”

“Ah, same birthday plans as you, then,” Amy interrupted with a smirk.

“But I wonder if my brother is lucky enough to have a special birthday breakfast made for him,” Harold said fondly, staring at the many pans on the stove that Amy was currently juggling.  “How long have you been up?”

“Only about an hour,” Amy answered dismissively.  “I wanted to surprise you with a big birthday breakfast.  Your brother actually called right on time, I’d have been in there to wake you up any minute now.”

While she spoke, she was flipping eggs, buttering hot toast, and pulling coffee mugs from the cupboard.

“You didn’t have to make me breakfast,” Harold said with a lopsided frown.

“Of course I did,” Amy replied right away.  “You deserve it.  I’m gonna spoil you rotten today.  If your brother can spend his birthday being doted on by his wife, you can spend your birthday being doted on by me.”

“I can finally see now why my brother wanted this kind of life,” Harold chuckled, planting yet another soft peck at Amy’s temple.

“Speaking of your brother, I’m guessing he still doesn’t know about us?” Amy asked, raising a curious eyebrow.

“Not yet,” Harold replied sheepishly.  “I’ll tell him soon.  I’m just not ready to yet.”

“Tell him whenever you’re ready,” Amy reassured him.

While Amy loaded up their plates with the breakfast she had prepared, Harold suddenly remembered the phone call he had just had with Harvey.

“Oh!  Though I forgot to tell you why my brother called!” Harold said quickly, snapping as realization hit him.

“I just assumed it was to wish you a ‘Happy Birthday’,” Amy reasoned, pouring two mugs of coffee.

“Well yes, of course, but also to talk to me about my gift!” Harold said excitedly.  “Have you ever heard of Twin Con before?”

“Never heard of it,” Amy replied, shaking her head.  Harold felt slightly deflated by this answer, he was fairly certain it was one of those things that just wouldn’t be interesting to the outside observer.  And yet as Amy carried dishes of food to the table, she turned back to Harold and added, “You can tell me all about it over breakfast.”

Harold smiled as he watched Amy make another trip to the kitchen, this time to collect their coffee cups and bring them to a perfectly set table complete with a hot meal.  It was a birthday unlike any Harold had ever had before, much more lowkey and certainly far less adventurous and exciting than he was used to.  But Harold had to admit, he could certainly get used to this.

[kingcocoabutter]

The Hero’s Dilemma and The Illusion of Choice.

Unlike many fans I have been dismayed with the Whole Cake Island arc in One Piece because, expectations aside, it feels like the first real moment in the series that Oda’s glaring weaknesses and biases have prevented him from telling a truly exceptional story. And the core of this weakness lies in his treatment of Sanji’s character arc. Sanji has been one of the most static characters in One Piece and much of my disappointment with WCI stems from my feelings on how Oda has presented us with the illusion of character growth and development. And it really all stems from his use and misuse of what I like to call: The Hero’s Dilemma.

It is one of the most prolific and valuable tool in a writer’s arsenal notable for its apparent simplicity. Essentially what it boils down to is this: the hero of any story must, at some point, face the choice to either change or die. In my opinion the one film that exemplifies the masterful use of this technique is Christopher Nolan’s The Dark Knight.

In any story there are several key traits/characteristics all antagonists must share:

1)    They must be powerful. As John Truby says in “The Anantomy of A Story”:

“Create an opponent…who is exceptionally good at attacking your hero’s greatest weakness”

 I highly recommend that everyone watches Lesson from The Screenplay’s video on why the Joker is the ultimate antagonist for a detailed breakdown of how that character excels at this, but to put it simply the Joker is not scared of Batman. There is nothing the latter can do to the former whether it be through physical violence or intimidation that can cause the Joker to stop terrorizing the city except killing him. Something Batman won’t do. (This will be explored later on in the editorial)

While I have said that I don’t like the WCI arc overall, I recently did a readthrough and upon doing so I noticed that Oda had actually masterfully set up the conflict at the start of WCI.

Zou had just been ravaged by Jack’s forces and the Minks were in no condition to fight. Bege’s Castle powers allowed him to outflank the Straw Hat’s and trap them in his “castle”. Sanji couldn’t refuse the wedding invitation because a) Capone was holding the other SH’s hostage and b) Vito whispered something to Sanji (I’d say Zeff being held hostage but this seemed to surprise Sanji later in the arc so who knows) that left him with no choice. Then when Sanji actually arrives on WCI he has exploding cuffs locked onto his wrists (another weakness in that a Chef can’t cook without his hands) and he is told that his mentor/father figure Zeff (whom Sanji literally owes his life) will be killed if he attempts to leave the island or in any way interfere with the wedding. Oda masterfully sets up the scenario leading Sanji to the moment where the second characteristic comes into play.

2)    Pressuring the Protagonist into difficult choices.

 “TRUE CHARACTER is revealed in the choices a human being makes under pressure – the greater the pressure, the deeper the revelation, the truer the choice to the character’s essential nature”

In the Dark Knight the Joker does this in a number of ways from: declaring that a person will be killed every day that Batman doesn’t reveal his true identity to forcing him to choose between saving either Harvey Dent or Rachel.

And this is where Oda’s weaknesses become apparent. As I said before the Hero’s Dilemma requires the hero to either change or die. Throughout WCI the choices Sanji makes all depend on him “sacrificing” himself and his happiness to try and protect the people he cares about most: Zeff and the Straw Hats. At this point Sanji has essentially made the choice to “die” because he feels like that’s the best possible course. And thus we get to the fundamental disconnect behind the Hero’s Dilemma.

The moment a hero chooses death over change their story ends. If Sanji were the lone protagonist in this story plot progression would grind to a halt. I would describe it as the moment the hero of story comes to a fork in the path. On one lies change and the other death. On one path there is an infinite number of other forks leading to other paths and the other leads to dead ends. So if a “hero” comes face to face with a dead end then how can they continue forward? They can either backtrack and choose to walk down the other fork in the road or another character can light a new path for them.

That moment for Sanji happened with the Pudding reveal. All throughout the arc Sanji had convinced himself that he could be “happy” with Pudding as his “consolation prize”. In his imagined “death” he would have married her and lived out the rest of his days in misery as the SH’s continued on their merry way on to new adventures. But then he finds out that not only is Pudding not whom he imagined but that she was planning on killing all his siblings at the Wedding (the Game of Thrones influence was strong on Oda). Thus do we come to the tipping point of the entire arc.

Chapter 852: Germa’s failure was where I personally felt that Whole Cake Island went downhill and Oda started backtracking on the idea that consequences mattered and that character growth matters. As a quick refresher in this chapter Sanji reveals Pudding’s plans to Reiju and tells her that he’s conflicted because he doesn’t know what to do. Reiju then reveals that Sanji’s bomb cuffs are fake and that since Big Mom has no interest in Zeff, once Judge is dead, the threat to Baratie will be gone and so Sanji can leave WCI without worrying.

I. Hate. This. Chapter. Oda had written himself into a catch 22 situation which meant that Sanji literally had no way of removing himself from the situation without an ex-machina scenario. He removed all responsibility and agency from Sanji and gave him an easy out. Hence my complaint that he only presented the “illusion” of having a “difficult choice”. He never really had one in the first place nor was he ever expected to make one. This was failure #1.

After his heart-to-heart with Reiju, Sanji goes off to find Luffy and he gives him a non-apology apology where he “admits” that he was “wrong” and that he wants go back to Sunny. He also admits that despite everything his family has done to him he still wants to save them. Here again we’re given the illusion that Sanji is facing another Hero’s Dilemma. He can either leave his family to die or he can save them. Given what we know of Sanji the choice to abandon his family would signal his “death” because even though he would be “justified” in leaving them to their fate, as he later tells Judge, he couldn’t do it because he would feel like he was letting Zeff down.

This would have been an absolutely perfect moment except for one niggly little detail. Remember chapter 852? Reiju reveals that she feels like she deserves death because Judge has “augmented” her and she cannot disobey him. She says that her hands are stained with blood and thus she too should be wiped out along with Germa. This is so problematic for reasons I won’t get into here, even though it may have plot relevance later on, and I will posit a theory in which it could mean several characters get some key development/growth.

There is no scenario in which deciding whether to rescue/abandon a “damsel in distress” would ever be a tough choice for Sanji. Fans know exactly what he was going to do the moment Reiju’s agency in the matter was taken away. Again Oda has presented us with the illusion that Sanji is facing a dilemma when really there never was one in the first place. Which brings me to the biggest failure of WCI and why I personally find this arc so lacklustre and disappointing: Sanji’s “chivalry”.

Ever since Enies Lobby fans have been disappointed with Sanji because it appears Oda didn’t know what to do with him. So he made him into a gag (another problematic issue that needs to be addressed). Each and every arc Sanji’s “chivalry” was played up for laughs and it continued to worsen his character and his popularity. So when WCI came around and the “Year of Sanji” was declared many fans, myself included, very ecstatic to see the return of the Sanji we all loved. And that’s exactly what we got. Oda gave us back the Sanji from Baratie frozen in time. Sure we got some extra tragic backstory, but it failed to shed any new light on Sanji’s character. As for the ONE BURNING QUESTION fans wanted the answer to (i.e. why won’t Sanji hit women)? Oda gave us an answer. And in my mind it was the single worst moment in the entire series so far. Sanji won’t hit women because Zeff told him not to.

Why doesn’t Batman kill villains? It’s a noble code for sure but wouldn’t it be so much easier and couldn’t so many more deaths be avoided if Batman just killed the Joker? In my opinion this is where and why The Dark Knight succeeds as a story. Batman WILL NOT kill a villain. His parents were killed in a street mugging as a child and that experience has not only scarred him but also informed his values. He WON’T kill a villain because in his mind that would make him exactly like them.

So in the Dark Knight the Joker tests his resolve by instigating chaos and killing people to try and force Batman to make a choice: reveal his identity or have the blood of innocents on his hands. He then does it again by forcing him to choose to either save Rachel or Harvey Dent. And in a brilliant subversion when Batman goes to save Rachel he finds Harvey.  The Joker knew who he would save and so he deliberately fed him misinformation. And at the end of the movie, Batman decides to arrest Joker rather than killing him cause choosing the latter would mean “death”. Well how has he changed then? All the tests the Joker put Batman through changed his perspective on what his limits are and where his *true* values lie. It also strengthened his resolve to commit to being Batman because he acknowledges that he is the only one that can do it. So where does the Dark Knight succeed that Oda doesn’t? It’s in the reason why they hold those values.

Upon re-reading the WCI arc there was a certain scene that stood out to me cause it showed me a new perspective on Sanji’s character. It’s during the fight with Judge where Sanji is having a “conversation” with his past self to question why he still seeks Judge’s approval or considers him family. As I pointed out before, Sanji’s “chivalry doesn’t stem from his respect for or relationship with the women in his life. It stems from a respect for Zeff and the idea that breaking this rule would mean disrespecting his mentor. Therein lies the problem. Sanji has never QUESTIONED why hitting women is wrong. He’s blindly following something Zeff told him cause he desperately wants his approval. That’s the difference between Sanji and Batman. It could also be the deciding moment for Sanji’s character in WCI.

I have consistently stated/theorized that at some point during WCI the cake Sanji/Pudding/Chiffon are baking for BM will become poisoned. Judge would order Reiju to do it as revenge for BM’s betrayal of Germa and I’ve been of the mind that it would either be a partnership between Reiju/Chiffon or Reijj/Pudding that carries out the “assassination”. The one thing I had never considered was how would Sanji react upon finding out that the cake has been poisoned?

There are two codes that Sanji lives by: Food is important (and thus should never be wasted and anyone that is hungry should be fed) and Never hit a woman. Throughout the series of One Piece Sanji has NEVER once held a woman responsible for her actions. He has always been willing to forgive them easily cause he never doubts that they have had good intentions or have undertaken “evil” actions of their own free will. So how will he react upon learning that a WOMAN POISONED a cake and thus ruined it? Especially if at least one of those women or the sole woman who undertakes the act is his sister.

Here is the scenario I imagine.

At some point BM is going to eat a poisoned cake and start going on a rampage. She is already apparently losing weight and energy at an alarming rate and she will need to refuel on something soon. If she CANNOT eat that cake then there is only one other potential source of energy she can eat: Souls. BM is going to go on a rampage on WCI and she is going to be killing her children left and right and eating their souls if they DO NOT give her the cake. Sanji is going to confront Reiju and ask her why she poisoned the cake. Remember Chapter 852? It’s interesting to note that despite Reiju saying she CANNOT disobey Judge, she was able to switch out Sanji’s bomb cuffs for plain ones. So obviously there are loopholes around Judge’s “augmentation”. This means we could potentially face a scenario where Reiju had the CHOICE not to poison the cake but CHOSE that course of action. Sanji will then be forced to face the fact that his sister CHOSE to poison the cake because she didn’t believe in Sanji and she violated his CORE VALUE.

Now as much as I want Sanji to hit a woman during WCI I can acknowledge that it won’t happen. But I do believe that his Food code is on the same level as Batman’s won’t kill code. So I want Sanji to pull back his fist or to at least ACT like he is going to hit Reiju. He’ll then stop and put it down and then coldly tell her that she is dead to him and he no longer considers her his sister before walking away. Here’s the kicker.

Oda could easily take this down another route and have Sanji direct all his hatred towards Judge and absolve Reiju of any responsibility. But to mean this would mean the death of Sanji’s character. Having him confront Reiju about the idea that she can choose her own fate and she should choose her own beliefs and values and not blindly follow orders should be a wake up moment for Sanji. It should make him reconsider how he’s approached his “chivalry” and the lessons he’s learned from Zeff and how it makes him any better. He needs to make a moment towards deciding that he needs to stop looking for someone else’s approval and instead become a man he can be proud of. It would not only be an important moment for Sanji but also one for Pudding and Reiju as well. Both characters have absolved themselves of any responsibility for their own actions and by the end of the arc both of them need to acknowledge the consequences of their actions.

Sanji may have had good intentions but his actions on WCI will have led (at least temporarily) to him hurting his captain, hurting his crew, the (temporary) death of Pedro and countless Charlotte family members and WCI citizens. BM is also part of this but I think you get the point.

I think by now all One Piece fans can acknowledge that the cake is important but I don’t think they realize exactly how important it is. The actions Sanji take’s upon learning what happened to the cake will show us his “essential nature”. It will also show us whether we’ve seen the limits of Oda’s storytelling. As they say: The proof is in the Pudding. Or at least cake in this case. 

[sure-as-eggs]

can you tell more about ed’s (and oswald’s) ways of thinking? god i can listen to you going on about them forever

…Well since I don’t seem to be capable of shutting up about them, I’m thrilled you feel that way?? (I’m sorry this took so long… Honestly I kept putting it off because I was waiting to see how Defrosted!Ed would handle things on his own before I committed to a reading on him!)

Anyway:

Ed is a chess player.Oswald is an artist.

There are a finite number of variables Ed is interested in at any given moment, and he operates within a closed system of actions and responses. He also always has a predetermined Winning Condition: after all, there’s only one definition of ‘checkmate.’

The problem for Ed is that he’s not always a particularly good chess player, because he has blinders a mile wide that prevent him from seeing if he’s made a bad move or if he’s underestimated an opponent. And that happens quite a lot?? Because Ed has very poor social skills and a fascinating ego problem.

Rather than a narcissist (which is 100% Oswald’s issue), I’d almost call Ed a solipsist?? Solipsism is the philosophical idea that you can’t be sure if anything exists except your own mind, and between his hallucinations and his compulsions and his empathy issues and his social difficulties, Ed has very very few anchors in reality. He has to find a way to view the world in concrete terms if he’s going to interact with it, he has to know that he can process and catalogue and make sense of things. Riddles are a perfect expression of that: by framing things in questions he knows the answers to, he swaps places with the rest of the world temporarily, because HE’S the one who’s anchored and it’s EVERYBODY ELSE who’s on uncertain ground.

That’s why it breaks my heart when he gets those riddles wrong. It’s all tied up in his Riddler persona, this assurance that he’s real and knows who he is and what he’s meant to be doing, and it unwinds him. Oswald telling him his riddles don’t make sense is Oswald telling Ed that his grasp on reality is wrong, that his identity isn’t real and that he’s completely lost sight of the chessboard patterns and reasoning he held on to so tightly in the first three seasons. Of COURSE he accepts being frozen again.

“Fogginess of the mind,” “decreased capacity to think ten steps ahead,” and “inability to solve riddles” are all basically the same complaint. He can’t make sense of the chessboard anymore. He knows it’s all there, he knows there are patterns to follow and questions with answers, he just can’t see it.

And he doesn’t make any attempt to adapt or look at things differently, either?? (Not yet, anyway.) He manages to develop a complete plan, and when it falls through, he temporarily gives up, and then comes up with another one. (Make money -> Fix brain) 

Honestly, the quality of his plans has declined significantly from when he went up against Jim or orchestrated Oswald’s downfall, but I don’t think his mental cycle of futility and single-mindedness has changed at all from before being frozen??

Ed doesn’t adjust well to unexpected circumstances or reactions. He’s at his best and happiest when he’s protected, removed, when there’s a buffer between him and whatever he’s trying to do. He doesn’t tend to do well in the thick of things, because he can’t account for complicating variables or micromanage from the front lines, and because he has no time or space to develop alternate strategies when he feels like everything he’s planned is falling apart around him.

For example: Kristen wasn’t supposed to get mad at him over Dougherty. He doesn’t know what to DO with that, he didn’t plan for it and so he panics, he tries to get things back on track with such violent desperation that he kills her. He has absolutely no problem-solving skills in situations like that.

Compare it to literally the next time he wakes up, when he’s alone and can start to rationalize the situation and the stakes. Compare it to him trying to sabotage the investigation into Kristen’s death, where he absolutely expects Jim to be out to get him, but there’s no immediate danger; he has all the time in the world to come up with and commit to a course of action, and to handle it all cleanly and precisely.

Ed has plans, and then potentially back-up plans, and quite often they’re brilliant. But if they fall through and he’s not in a position to retreat and reassess… He’s screwed. (“I was arresting Jim!!”)

(He has the /capacity/ to improvise, and sometimes he’s even successful, but generally only when whoever he’s trying to manipulate doesn’t have a good reason to doubt or make things difficult for him. He lies to Lee several times, and to Kristen, but in all those situations they go out of their way to give him the benefit of the doubt. It’s the same thing when he tricks Oswald; Oswald doesn’t believe what’s happening even when Ed pulls his gun.)

Ed gives his stance on manipulation in Arkham, which is that people are just puzzles, and there’s a solution to them: give them what they want. Contrast that with Oswald’s perspective: “when you know what a man LOVES, you know what can kill him.”

Ed is thinking in terms of cause and effect, black and white, fixed identities and desires because that’s how he operates, that’s the only way he can anchor himself and create a strategy that gets him closer to some objective ideal of control over his own reality.

Oswald isn’t.

Oswald is entirely contextual. He’s not looking for truth or answers, he’s not interested in objectivity or what’s really going on, all he cares about are feelings and experiences. Even his big-picture view is in terms of his own relationship to Gotham: it’s not just a prize or a proving ground, it’s his home.

I love his relationship to Ed’s riddles, because the ones he solves are the ones that are wrapped up in an immediate experience. He’s brilliant, but he’s not interested in being smart for its own sake. He gets nothing out of solving puzzles which aren’t relevant to him.

“What I want, the poor have, the rich need, and if you eat it, you die.”…Who gives a shit? Literally, who gives a flying fuck? If you want to say something, say it. If you want to lie, then lie. He doesn’t understand what Ed gets out of knowing the answer to his own question, he doesn’t understand why you’d separate the fact that you know something from the thing that you actually know unless you’re going to USE that somehow.

“I can’t be bought, but I can be stolen with a glance. I’m worthless to one, but priceless to two.”He is so not interested in this while he’s pissed at Ed and trying to run a goddamn campaign, but, fascinatingly, he remembers it word for word. Because the scene where Ed tells him this riddle is Ed pulling out all the stops, every rational explanation and concrete example he can think of to communicate something to Oswald, and I think Oswald can tell. He shuts Ed down because love is such a huge insecurity for him, acknowledgement is such a weak point, and he doesn’t want to accept that he has any interest in what Ed’s trying to tell him.But he does.And when it turns out Ed’s right, Oswald proves that he totally subconsciously solved that riddle because he could FEEL it, not as a question with an answer but as a hope and a fear he was trying to pretend Ed hadn’t brought to light.

…That was a digression.

Anyway: Oswald is at his best when things are an absolute shitshow. In tense, high-stakes situations where everybody’s already burned through Plans A through F and nobody has a precedent for what to do next, or when he’s stuck with no resources and an impossible task, Oswald shines.

My favorite example of this is the Season One finale, where he’d planned to go quietly murder Falcone and instead ends up arrested and chained in a warehouse by his two OTHER worst enemies (one of whom he thought was dead) who are suddenly working together. There is no way in hell he even considered that this was how his day would go. In Ed’s chess metaphors, this would be like if halfway through the game somebody gave your opponent all their captured pieces back and then let them take several consecutive turns. This is a Problem in a proper noun sense of the word, and Oswald has absolutely nothing to work with.

…Except he does. Because he can feel the tension, he can feel Fish’s controlled fury and Maroni’s self-satisfaction, he has history and connections with both of them, and he channels it all through about three sentences. He reads the situation like a painting and changes the entire mood and meaning of the piece with three well-placed strokes.

He can do this most effectively when he only has to worry about himself, because whatever he creates is (by default) going to suit his own vision. The most extreme version of it manifests as one of my favorite Oswald Things: what a tremendously bad idea it is to let him go off screen.

If you let him out of your sight, you’ve given him free reign to choose his own relationship to whatever’s happening. You’ve given him total creative control, and by god he’s gonna use it.Some examples off the top of my head:-When everybody scatters in the Season One finale and he unhooks himself and disappears, he comes back minutes later with an assault rifle and takes over the city-When Jim and Harvey leave him downstairs at Loeb’s farm, he stages the escape of the captives he’s supposed to be guarding and later murders them at his club-Ed shoots him and puts him in the river and he survives and turns up as Ed’s roommate in the super secret Court of Owls dungeon(I like to think everybody is fully aware of this phenomenon by the time the hostage exchange rolls around, and it’s part of what’s going through Ed’s head while chasing him out of the warehouse: “If I let him get out that door, I am fucked.”And hey, what do you know.Oswald gets out the door about four seconds before Ed.And four seconds is all he needs.)

Oswald has his weaknesses too, obviously. He’s actually, generally speaking, pretty terrible at being in charge of things. (Remember what a piss poor job he did with Fish’s club before Butch showed up?? He made it too much about himself, took it too personally, disregarded too many things he wasn’t personally interested in, and it nearly flopped.) Being in a position of authority really doesn’t capitalize on his skills, because it restricts the perspectives he can take, it dictates his relationship to the city and its workings in a way that can undermine the things he wants and feels.

In that sense, the team up of Oswald as mayor and Ed as chief of staff really could not have been better for either of them: you got the sense that Oswald ranted and fumed about things and worked through to what he wanted, and Ed translated it all into itemized lists to be discretely handled after tea.Oswald was in a position to see and interpret everything, but he didn’t have to worry about micromanagement. Ed had a constant stream of ego-inflating tasks to optimize and complete, but he could do it all from a position of total security.

(…I have to bring up one last thing, which is part of why I picked chess player and artist as my metaphors for Ed and Oswald: 3x15. Oswald leaves behind an oil painting of the two of them together, layers and shades and impressions, and Ed leaves a huge question mark over it because he can’t PROCESS them that way. He goes to the chess tournament, one stage in a meticulously choreographed master plan, and hallucinates Oswald telling him he’s being absurd because Ed is coping by moving pieces around for their own sake, assembling a puzzle without any regard for whether it actually makes a picture in the end. It’s such a good contrast and such a good episode, I’m still not over it.)

[beautifulramblingbrains]

Deception - Chapter 2

Fandom: Divergent. Pairing: Eric/OC Rating: M

With a Father in power and a past based on rumors, a story of deception entails.

Find the first chapter here.

A/N: Thank you for such a great response from the first chapter alone. So here’s another. :) 

Tags: @murmelinchen @beltz2016 @tak3th3sh0t @singingpeople @frecklefaceb @equalstrashflavoredtrash @pathybo I went through the notes and I’m sorry if I missed people. Let me know if you want in.

With so many sectors, fifteen in all, a patrol was a standard three hours without interruption. Kate and her group took a slow pace, scanning, assessing, and familiarizing themselves with the routine. There weren't enough days in training to fit all the sectors in, but Eric had explained very carefully that once they had done a few, they had done them all, and that they would be more than likely participating in multiple policing missions in one day.

It was crucial that their presence was reinforced and a lot of their efforts were concentrated around Abnegation. Eric had told them that because Abnegation fed and clothed the factionless, crime rates were higher in those sectors; Abnegation brought the trouble on themselves by their own actions.

The small squadron Kate was on had yet to come across any real activity. And they certainly weren't anywhere near ready if they did.

But she found that a lot of the time she was watching Harvey. Today he was much calmer, fitting in with the group, probably having seen sense and taken Eric's words - and threat - to heart. Being scrapped from a position he had applied for was bad news for any other job in the future he wished to pursue. At least he was smart enough to remember that.

They walked in twos, five trainees, and Eric. After walking for almost two hours, a false sense of security was obvious in the way small idle talk was passed between them. Eric puts his hand up as they finally get to the boundary of Abnegation, signaling that it was time for a small break before their last hour, then they would head home.

They break away from each other and Kate pulls a small water flask off of her belt, drinking quickly. Though it is cloudy, the walking had caused a small sweat, her feet hot in her thick boots and a hell of an ache in her neck.

A shadow creeps up behind her slowly which she doesn't notice at first until Eric stands steadfast next to her, still completely alert of their surroundings when all she had done was concentrate on her thirst. Curiously, Kate's attention is drawn to Eric's fingers exposed out of his fingerless gloves that hover loosely over his gun at his chest, then to his squinted eyes gazing out ahead of him. It's almost like he had something to say, but he doesn't.

He glances at her only briefly, before calling over his shoulder, "Let's get going," to the group and signals with his head to move on.

Harvey becomes Kate's partner throughout the patrol in Abnegation. While she stays quiet, he rambles on about things; pointing out the Stiff's hair, how they dress, and how he could never imagine coping under Abnegation's selfless rules.

"Does that make me selfish?" Harvey asks as they trail through a back street, crisscrossing their way through the gray faction.

"What does?" Kate had barely paid any attention, trying to stay alert rather than fall into Harvey's gossip pit. But it was hard to ignore someone so persistent, and someone who would nudge hard with his elbow when he wanted a reply.

"You know, the thought of being in a selfless faction; thinking of others before myself. I don't think I could do it," he explains.

"Well, it's a good thing you're not in that faction." She feels bad being so blunt, sighing as she continues, "You don't have to worry about that. It's not even worth thinking about."

"But can you imagine…" She meets his wide brown eyes, noticing he was only slightly taller than her. "...if you got Abnegation or a faction you didn't want in your aptitude, and having to join them."

"It's genetics and other biological nonsense, Harvey. It's way past us now."

He kicks a rock as they walk. "But it's reality for some." Kate doesn't reply, noticing Eric in front of them stop to talk to an older man from Abnegation. "Then you have two years like, thinking about it, preparing yourself mentally. Then we have choosing day..."

Kate side-eyes him, then pushes past the group to get within hearing distance.

"...this team is finished and on training. It will be another squadron you'll have to address your concerns to," she catches the end of their conversation and Eric looks at her for the briefest of moments.

Her presence seems to distract the Abnegation man and he nods gracefully. "Thank you. And I will." He smiles at her, and Eric doesn't extend any other formal or polite acknowledgment while stepping past.

Eric leads them along the main street built up with houses of the same consistency either side. That consistency being cubic buildings with matching pathways to the street and completely identical; not an ounce of personality from one to the other. It didn't help with their already weird image which gave Abnegation an old and lost feel to it as they strolled through. It makes Kate briefly think of what Harvey was explaining earlier, and a shiver runs up her spine - it appeared as though time had stood still for this faction.

Groups of people gather together in conversation to the side of houses, children crossing the paths in front of them, karts of what Kate presumed was food, pushed and served evenly through their community. They were nothing like Dauntless at all. Though structured, Dauntless were bold and the people made their own way and decisions, selfishly using points for meals and living quarters and on other greedy items they didn't practically need. It makes her wonder and she addresses Eric when she asks, "How does their society work?"

Her voice breaks his concentration and he looks down to her, eyeing her for a moment until he replies with a shrug, "They are communists. Absent of social classes, common ownership in means of production. Everyone is equal and shit."

"So how do they ever find the urge to, I don't know… advance? Personal growth? Satisfaction in life?"

"A safe society, they believe, is one where everything is interconnected. The safety of fairness is how they find their satisfaction. Putting others before themselves they see as personal growth and exemplary. Need I say more?"

Kate smiles to herself from the formal way he speaks, it's almost rehearsed and he had a great way of sounding bored and unquestionable. "Are you satisfied?" Eric frowns at her. "...With your job? Personal life?" She hadn't particularly meant to ask that, and her outspokenness was beginning to become a nuisance habit.

"Is that something you should be asking me?"

"It's a simple question. You don't seem very happy most of the time."

"Keep your assumptions to yourself," he pauses, his face loosening and he shakes his head. "And I am as happy as I can be."

"Well, that makes two of us. I am as happy as I can be, too," Kate tells him as he slows in pace. "But I won't be satisfied until I have finished this week and had a while in my job; to get a feel for everything. It's all still unknown to me at the moment." She grimaces out in front of her in thought, sensing him still watching her. "Did my dad say anything to you about me not moving out?"

"He is trying to protect you," Eric says candidly and it annoys Kate.

"From what?"

"Do you want me to be conventional, or state the obvious?" He glances behind him to the group, then around him.

"Well, he is never going to be completely honest with me."

"You're his responsibility, he's trying to do what's best. Then we have…" He looks her up and down. "You, being a Leader's daughter with a promising future. You're young, naive…" He trails off.

"Yeah?"

She swears she sees a slight lift in his lip, but other than that he remains passive. "You're not bad on the eyes. Decent."

Kate scoffs between the soft sound of their gear clattering as they walked. "Decent?"

"Pretty." Though it was flattering, the word seems to roll off of his tongue with distaste. "Any man can see that. But it's the acting upon it that your dad is trying to prevent and it seems so far that he is successful. Giving credit where credit is due, of course."

"This is the problem, he can't stop me from meeting guys and other stuff. I have to do that for myself. He was young when he met my mom, probably not much older than I am now."

"And look what happened," Eric mocks, falsely grinning at her and appearing done with this conversation. She see's his point, but she still feels slightly insulted. Kate looks to her boots, thinking over her parents meeting for probably the hundredth time. She had almost romanticized it into a fairy tale, and to dampen such a childhood memory was almost like feeling disappointed and stupid all at once.

Eric doesn't say anything more, perhaps he knew the graveness of his words. He only picks up the pace, leaving her to fall back into line, and leads them back to Dauntless.

After an uneventful afternoon learning how to log in the information of their activity throughout the day, Kate jogs with her friend Laura, taking roads outside of Dauntless but still within a safe perimeter of the compound. It was the usual route they'd been shown as initiates and they would pass groups of people partaking in the same activity every so often.

The two young women had known each other since their education lessons as they grew up, but only really became friends when placed together in initiation. Most of the people Kate had relationships with were more like acquaintances, but for once, she had a best friend off of her own back, and someone who wasn't interested in her family's position.

"You're quiet today," Laura pants through their timed running.

"I've got a lot on my mind. I told you about my dad trying to get me to stay with them, didn't I? In some ways I want to because I know he will be happy if I do. But in others, I don't know if I could stand Lorraine and the twins much longer. It also gives people something to gossip about."

"Maybe for a while, but they don't understand your situation."

"I don't understand my situation," Kate rebukes a little harshly, coming to a stop and bending down to catch her breath.

Laura stretches with her hands cupped behind her head, breathing deeply. "I get it-"

"Do you?" Kate's head whips up. "Because at the moment I'm apparently a full member, but I'm limited. I feel like a child; an unwanted nuisance. And I always will in that household."

"You're not unwanted, otherwise your dad would've karted you to the housing place and demanded your living arrangements the same day."

"He wants me to stay with him because he feels guilty. I spoke to Eric-"

Laura laughs lightly. "Oh, really? You speak a lot with Eric lately?" Her tone is suggestive and Kate snorts, turning away from her.

"We talk a bit, of course. I've known him for years."

"And he's the same Leader who just so happens to be taking your week course in Public Services. Who spends dinner every night with your family. Who has flirted with you-"

"He doesn't flirt with me," Kate interjects.

"Bullshit. You told me about the time he walked you home but didn't need to, and then safely saw you inside before leaving to do some 'work'." Laura seems exasperated, her hands flying up with a shrug. "I mean, hello, it's Eric."

"He's a pawn of my dad," Kate brushes her off with a wave of her hand.

"But you have to admit he's handsome," Laura points out to which Kate scoffs, sitting down on the edge of the curb. "Admit it," Laura continues.

"He's alright."

"Alright?" Laura lands next to her, nudging her friend with a laugh. "Just alright?"

"He said I was pretty today." Kate blushes with a smile and Laura shifts closer. "He said any man can see it."

"That's straight out flattery. He likes you. I've said this from the beginning. He didn't have to say that, at all."

"I'm just... a little girl in his eyes. He has to be nice to me, there is a difference. My dad is his boss." Kate picks at the curb, suddenly standing and tilting her head back towards Dauntless. "And speaking of which, if I don't get back, I'm sure there will be a search party looking for me."

"One that includes Eric," Laura calls, wriggling her eyebrows and laughs as Kate takes off quickly in a sprint to ignore her.

Kate enters the apartment to low rumbling voices that stop as she steps through the archway that parts the open kitchen from the hall. Her dad's familiar eyes soften when he realizes it's her. "My girl finally joins us…" Eric has his back to her, only turning his head over his shoulder, glancing before idling back to Mick.

"Hey." She tries her best to act normal and not take much notice of the young leader her and Laura were gossiping about not that long ago. She wondered whether it was true what they say and perhaps Eric's ears had been burning.

"Where you been?" Mick speaks with his usual rapid-fire irritating interrogation voice. It's only ever slightly more clipped than usual so she knew he was serious, but he also kept it falsely kind, like they would do in small one to one sessions at the beginning of an investigation.

"Went for a run. You always say I should exercise more."

Mick smiles at that. "Who with?"

Kate steps up next to the table, letting her fingers brush across the top. "Oh, you know, five of these really big bodybuilding guys that are way too old for me..." She rolls her eyes, exhaling exaggeratedly.

"That means Laura," Eric speaks up, making Kate look at him and he appears smug, lifting an eyebrow at her. She notices the small whiskey filled glasses on the table, where Eric's hand lingers on the base of one of them.

"You trying to cause trouble, Kate? She is, isn't she?" Mick laughs with a wink and Eric keeps the grin on his face, his eyes holding hers. "Eric tells me it's been another fine day on your patrols. I'm glad to hear it, darling." Mick leans back in his seat, letting his arm hang loosely over the spare chair beside him.

Kate breathes deeply, swallowing and forcing a pleasant smile at her father. "We're learning a lot about the other factions. It's…" She hesitates for a second, realizing that she's the center of attention and her confidence dwindles. But it also doesn't help she's still mentally distracted and still half contemplating Laura saying Eric liked her. "...interesting."

"Good, good." Mick nods.

"Anyway, I'm going to take a shower."

"We've got some stuff to do, darling, so you might miss us. I'll see you in the morning in case." He grasps her hand and squeezes, then leans back onto the table. "So, I spoke to them at Erudite. It's been a while…"

Kate switches off, heading to her bedroom and knowing Eric could see her the entire way down the hallway. The hallway was long and wide and all the rooms petered off from it, her room being at the end, opposite the bathroom.

Throwing her phone on the bed, she takes off her gym shoes, placing them by the door and heading to the mirror. She looked sticky, her face shiny, also a little tired from working and then pushing herself physically. At the moment her body was in good shape and she wanted to try and keep it that way. Though, she ate what she wanted regardless.

While locking herself away to the confines of the bathroom and taking a rather long and warm shower, she tries to tell her mind it was time to switch off; to stop thinking of things she didn't know the answers to just yet. It was practically impossible.

She shaves her legs, washes her hair, feeling satisfied and fresh again, though her mind was muddy. Whatever decision she made would affect her. But could she really disappoint her father? The one person who believed in her, who loved her?

Towel drying her hair in front of the mirror, she wraps a spare around her body, then dumps her old clothes in the wash bin. She hums as she unlocks the door, letting steam into the hallway as she opens it. She instinctively looks to her right, to the place where the end of the dining table could still be seen, and she is surprised to find Eric still sitting in the place he was before.

She pauses, holding the towel tightly and watching him sit back in the chair with a hand on the table drumming as he seems to be waiting for her father. His face is solemn but appearing in deep concentration over something, and for some reason, she felt a warped sense of sympathy for him.

He notices her suddenly, the drumming ceasing as he slowly sits up, readjusting in his seat.

It was like a spring uncoiling in her stomach. A slow, slippery, warm sensation brushing her skin for the first time as he looked at her. But this time it was different. He was seeing her, and not the appointed image from over the years.

Just when their eyes meet, a door opens in the middle of the hallway and Lorraine steps out too quickly for her to dart into her room. She smiles weakly at Lorraine, dropping her eyes to the floor and entering her bedroom without a word.

Lorraine peers down the hallway to Eric but he's already turned away. A smirk begins to form on her face instead of the assessing frown she once adorned. Casually she strolls in her highest heels towards the dining table and pulls out a chair opposite Eric, placing herself neatly into it. "Where's my husband?"

Lorraine sees the shift in Eric's eyes from reserved to skeptical before he answers, "He had to make a call."

"So, he just left you here? He trusts you very much, doesn't he." Eric looks from her heavy makeup to the long nails on her hands, resisting the urge to grimace openly while she talks. "Look, sweetie. Mick tells me everything. All those little talks you have… All your little adventures with Jeanine." She smiles at him before continuing on in the too pleasant tone, edging on condescending, "Then we have Kate, don't we? What a little problem we've got ourselves in."

Eric doesn't say a word.

"She's got an adorable soft spot for you. I've seen it." She leans further on the table until her breasts are presented to him, and she lowers her voice. "But Mick warned you, didn't he? Touch his baby girl and you have one hell of a rainstorm down on your little career life."

"What makes you think I want to touch her?" Eric hisses through his teeth. It was taking a lot of effort to remain passive in front of this annoyingly sounding woman and the clanking of her earrings.

"You got that look, like Kate's father did after he found out what's her face had died; knowing you shouldn't but you want to. I mean…" She taps her long nails on the table, glancing at them for a second. "What's so special about this girl? I have spent eighteen years with her and she sure as hell ain't one of mine. It's in her blood, couldn't help her."

"Maybe she's special because she knows when to keep her mouth shut."

Lorraine smiles all teeth. "There we go. There he is. I've been waiting."

Eric juts his chin out, looking past her down the hall then sternly back to her. Of all people, he was not about to back away from the likes of Lorraine. "Wherever you are going with this, or whatever is happening here, forget it. Don't bother."

"Look, I'll get straight to the point. Kate's a big no-no." She chuckles suddenly. "Though, it is strange to be saying this to you after such a long time. I never saw it coming…" she trails of purposefully, still appearing pretty smug with herself. "So… I have a proposition that might interest you. You know all the lardy-da expectations of idolism and a structured community that is futile in an extreme society like Dauntless..." Eric's frown only grows deeper, the annoyance swelling in his gut, and the urge to throw her halfway across the room was overbearing. "For example we got Mick married at eighteen. How old are you now?"

Eric stares blankly, not answering.

"Ah, I remember now, twenty-one in two weeks. Which is perfect really because I have two beautiful daughters about to go through initiation in the coming months. Mick and I would be absolutely all for it if you chose one of our girls. And your rep will be squeaky. Whatcha think?"

Lorraine looks so hopeful, he can't help himself. He breathes deeply in, leaning towards her and returns her smile. "What do they plan on doing after initiation?"

"Rose wants to do hairdressing and I think Regina wants to work in the canteen, cooking or baking or something…" Lorraine rubs her lips together, smudging her bright red lipstick.

"Right…" He nods his head, keeping the smirk on his face. "It's almost insulting that you expect me to be taken by their lack of ambition, that I must be so desperate to agree with something like this, that I'm gullible. You may be Mick's wife, Lorraine. You may have been the daughter of an old leader yourself, but I don't take orders from you."

"But…" Lorraine hesitates, pouting as she does so. "You might want to start considering it. It's expected of you and needed to keep your position. Did Mick ever tell you that? Think that's why he married me so young, he was serious about his career and what other people thought. I suppose some people don't think like he does..." she insinuates him with a quick glance.

"Your marriage was a sentence of convenience," he states coldly.

"My sentence was learning to become a mother of a child I couldn't love and knowing every single day this child represented something Mick strayed for."

Eric scoffs to himself. "So you'd be willing to let one of your precious girls get involved in a loveless set-up?"

"I'm just presenting an easy option between all the other aspiring Dauntless girls you're considering."

"I'm not considering anybody," he almost growls, trying disastrously to keep his cool.

"At the end of the day, you got a job to do. And we all know that's a lie."

"What's a lie?" Mick demands, slamming the front door shut. Pushing his phone back in his pocket, he runs a hand across the top of his graying hair, looking strained from whatever conversation he was just having.

Lorraine smiles up at him. "We were just having an interesting chat," she tilts her head at Eric, him daring her to speak further. "He's been thinking about his duties, what girls he has been considering."

"Oh damn, that old band wagon. When I was a lad I actually enjoyed that part - until Lorraine strutted her stuff past me in the canteen one day of course, and the rest was history. Who we got on your list? I can help, you know. I have a heavy and incredibly persuasive hand in this business." He halts Eric when he tries to speak. "Discreet, too."

Mick was anything other than discreet.

"I haven't -" Eric begins and Kate appears from the hall, dressed in loose clothing and this time doesn't meet his eyes. Though he watches her as she casually passes, heading for the kitchen.

Lorraine looks over her shoulder and back. "One of our girls, one of the twins," she states in the advantage of his falter.

Mick takes a seat next to Eric and clouts him on the back. "You been keeping this from me, boy?"

"Lorraine suggested-"

"We'll discuss this on the walk to security. But I'm delighted, I really am. I might not look it right now but this is just a passive form of work mode, and because we only got five minutes and Max and Harry are waiting for us..." Mick tips his head to his wife, "sweetheart."

Eric can't register anything other than anger as he stands up. Automatically he catches Kate's curious face in the darkness of the kitchen while she sips on a juice, propped back against the counter. He starts walking towards the door with Mick, getting a better view of the casual sweater she'd thrown on and the high bun of washed, messy hair on her head. And then, silently he curses himself as he almost bumps into Mick who had paused to hold the door open for him.

Kate had used the same locker that had been provided to her on the first day for the last three days that she'd been on the introduction course. It wasn't a permanent one because eventually there would be placements among Amity or on the wall and someone else would need to use it. But for now, it was hers, and it was the place she kept the picture of her mother while she was out for the day.

Touching her mother's smiling face briefly before she slams the metal locker door shut, she is the first one dressed. She jumps in fright when she notices Eric standing right behind her, feeling the prickling of embarrassment at being caught doing something so personal.

"When ready, arm yourself and go wait outside."

Kate doesn't say anything, walking straight past him to the rack of standard rifles by the door. Picking one up, she checks the clip before putting the support strap over her head. In her peripheral she can see Eric strolling over towards the door as he waits, coming up beside her again.

"What's happened, Kate?" he whispers as if the act alone was against protocol.

She looks at him as if he was stupid. "Nothing."

"You're the very last person I would expect to be in a bad mood."

"I'm good at disappointing people, Eric," she mumbles gravely as she remembers hearing Lorraine outside the twins room that was next to hers, giving a brief insight into the conversation she had with Eric. The twins reactions were mild acts of exaggerated inward screaming and hyperventilating. And Kate knew for a fact Lorraine had spoken far louder than necessary so she could overhear them.

She had placed Eric highly on a pedestal in her mind; she respected him and thought he knew better than to play ball with Lorraine over such things. The image was now somewhat marred, and altogether disheartening.

"Hey…" He grabs her arm as she tries to pass, her breathing coming out raggedly and she all but stares at his hand rather than up at him. "You're doing well on this course, you're not disappointing-"

"I'm fine." Right now, she didn't need a psych analysis or pep talk, and luckily her outburst stops whatever advice he was going to serve.

Eric narrows his eyes at her, twisting a piece of the strap over so it laid flat on her shoulder. "Okay. I can work with that." He exaggeratedly holds a hand out to the door, watching her storm through it.

Kate can barely breathe. It doesn't help that her uniform feels heavy, the gun swinging precariously on her back as she climbs. She's almost to the top, her arms aching and around her she could see the roofs of other buildings, some even below her now.

They scale an old fire escape, a rusted, was once black ladder of an abandoned building. The rain is pouring down, making it almost impossible to look up and the bars slippery, taking her breath away every time her boots squeak on the tread. Below her, she spots the other female trainee clinging on and talking to herself. Kate doesn't want to have that image imprinted onto her if anyone saw, so she pushes herself to carry on - though, in fact, she wanted to join her.

Between the crumbled but highly built up area around Candor, Eric shows them tactical movements, strategies they would use, and utilizing the help from their surroundings. This is nothing like they have done so far. Eric has taken their training to a whole new level and she wonders if it is because of her attitude earlier.

Either way, Kate would be happy to never have to climb another ladder in her lifetime.

Her hand reaches the top, the taste of safety causing her to move faster, slinging herself over the small wall and to the graveled rooftop. Catching her breath, she wipes the water out of her eyes and face, getting to her feet on unsteady legs.

Eric's standing, waiting with an impatient look on his face. "Glad you could join us," he snaps over the constant downpour of rain and Harvey grins next to him, looking absolutely pleased with himself.

She waits for the girl that was below her, helping her over the wall. The girl's hands tremble and feel cold, her face is pale as if she was going to hurl. "Not too good with heights?" she asks and the girl shakes her head. "I'm not a fan either." The two guys that make up the rest of their group gracefully pull themselves up without a word, watching Eric expectantly.

Kate fears the worst when Eric smiles. "If we are in pursuit, we need to conquer every obstacle without hesitation. Be that on the ground, or above," Eric states over the rain, running a hand over his face as if it would somehow help. He turns suddenly, walking directly to a ledge and steps up. With his tall frame, he makes his grounded jump look effortless as he disappears from sight.

The group all jog to the ledge and look over to him flicking his wrist from a neighboring building for the next person to follow, and that's Harvey. It's a good six feet across and five feet lower than the building they were currently on and Kate whispers under her breath, "You've got to be kidding me." The last thing she was expecting was Eric trying to intentionally kill one of them.

Harvey tries to copy Eric and fails, hitting the intended building and just getting his arm over it, clambering himself up the side while only the others gasp. The next guy to tribute himself lands on the ledge and his knees buckle.

Even though Kate fears the obvious fact of falling to her death, she still doesn't want to be the last. She backs up, puts all her energy into the run-up, and propels with all her strength off the side, landing with a thud on the adjacent roof with a painful groan. The gravel digs into her palms and she's sure she has a hole in the knee of her pants, but she looks back to the higher building with triumphant.

"Good." Eric nods once they are all over what probably was a simple task to him, and turns his back on them. "To get down, we take the stairs."

"...in the fear stage, it wasn't just the bugs, it was like slimy things I've never seen before. So I put two and two together and it must have been an experience I had as a child with a slug…" Kate walks in last to the locker room, overhearing Harvey's run down to one of the fellow trainees. He catches Kate as she passes, "Kate! What did you get in your fears?"

Kate scrunches up her nose, shaking her head. "That's stuff you shouldn't share with other people." She rubs her neck after opening her locker, ignoring Harvey taking off his shirt and putting on a spare beside her.

Her clothes are soaked through and she could think of nothing better than slumming it in her pajamas later; jogging was not on the menu, she decided. On that thought she pulls out her stashed phone, bringing up her messages and texts Laura.

The slamming of Harvey's locker makes her almost drop the phone and she frowns at him as he says his goodbyes, skimming past Eric in the doorway. Eric didn't fare any better than the rest of them, his usually gelled hair sat flat against his head and he'd already thrown off his jacket somewhere, showing the damp patches on his black shirt across his shoulders and back.

The other female trainee shivers, pulling on her pants and clumsily steps into her boots. It gives Kate the fleeting feeling of initiation, their shared dorm, and bathroom. It was way too late for her to start becoming shy over her body in situations like this, but it doesn't mean she wished that she'd rushed like the others and got here first to change. Because when the last trainee leaves, it's just her Eric left.

He's sitting on the wooden bench between them, but she doesn't turn around, trying to contain her modesty as she strips off the sopping, heavy jacket and unbuttons her pants. The material sticks to her legs and they are halfway to her feet when she hears Eric's voice from behind her.

"I know why you are annoyed and I know for a fact Lorraine can't keep her gob shut."

Kate steps out of her pants and folds them slowly while mulling over his words, the picture of her mother just grabbing her eye. "It's none of my business."

She peers over her shoulder but he's not looking. She's only greeted by an intricate tattoo mainly to one side of his back which she's never seen before.

"Nah," he says breezily, "it's no one's business. But it doesn't mean people don't want to get in on it."

Kate frowns to herself, lifting up the hem of her shirt and pulls it over her head, covering her chest with it even though she was still facing towards the locker. "Well, not me." Her reply is snarky and he snorts to himself. He had guts if he thought for a second she was bothered by what or who he does, even if that possibly meant one of her pathetic half-sisters. "Which one you got your eye on? I'm going to go with a hairdresser for that do of yours. Or maybe the cook, she would keep you well fed," she scoffs, unclipping her bra to put it inside the locker and fetches her spare shirt.

"I thought you said you didn't want in on my business?"

"I don't," she snaps quickly. "But you were the one who told me you didn't abide by traditions or some other … thing." In her annoyance, she glances over at him and pauses. His mouth is fractionally open, his eyes having already strayed from her face, down her bare side to the curvature of her hip. She swallows, quickly turning away and pulling the clean shirt over her head. "And... do you mind…"

"You're not disappointing, Kate."

Confused with his behavior and the way he never seemed to be bothered by anything irks her. "Go tell Lorraine… Maybe… maybe you can sort it out between the two of you-" She jumps when the locker door slams shut in front of her; she hadn't even heard Eric move.

"Is that what you think?" he mumbles as Kate backs up into the lockers behind her, the cold steel brushing against the back of her legs. "You'll see," he says with a condescending grin, yanking the door open and grabbing her phone.

"What are you doing?"

"How do you unlock this?" he demands, his face is set, not bothering to acknowledge her defiant scowl.

Kate crosses her arms. "All sevens," she huffs and watches as he cycles through her phone, before joyfully handing it back.

"We'll talk later." Eric leaves her there, grabbing his clean shirt off the bench and storming out of the room.

If he wanted her number, all he had to do was ask.

Mick isn't particularly happy at the dinner table. He's barely said a word and him and Lorraine glare at each other from time to time. To top it all off, Eric hasn't joined them tonight. In a way she's grateful, not having to stomach sitting across from him after her stupid outburst earlier. But on the other hand, she's curious. And more than one time tonight she had found herself daydreaming over the meaning of his tattoos that she never had the chance of seeing until now.

With this weird feeling in the air, her appetite dwindles. In fact, she isn't that hungry anymore. Lorraine's the first to stand up haughtily and Kate is thankful it's finally over. It wasn't like dinner was obligatory but her father insisted for all of them to have dinner together; something to do with keeping the family close. So if she wanted out of it, she always had to have a good reason. It seemed Eric now was a part of that deal.

"Dad?" Kate whispers across to him, glancing to the idle seat next to him. "Where's-"

He shakes his head. "You don't want to know." He still appears as though he wants to say something, though she watches him calculating whether the twins would hear between their bickering or whether Lorraine was listening. He sits up further, twisting his wedding ring on his finger. "Eric's refused…" He motions towards the twins. "Lorraine isn't too pleased. Thought it was best he didn't show his face tonight, though, he'll have hell tomorrow. I think she was expecting him."

"You can't force people into something they don't want to do."

"Yeah, darling, but sometimes it's out of love we oblige these things. He's my boy. I treat him as such to an extent. Would've been good for him. Now he'll have others to go through, like Harry's girl, what's her face, Joslin... Johanna..."

"Close," Kate scoffs. "Jolene." They both pause as the twins get up, paying them no attention at all.

Suddenly she feels her father's hands on hers, the strength of them, though aged, still evident as he squeezes. "You're my girl, you know that."

"You tell me most days."

"I only ever try and do what's best." His words are heartfelt, but Kate can't help but feel thwarted because she was never seen as equal to the twins. "You thought more on…" he trails off while watching a resting-bitch-faced Lorraine toddle off to the bedroom. "...what we said before?"

"I don't know. I don't think staying here is a good idea. I need to go out and find myself, like everybody does."

"I think you know who you are. And you know what you mean to me."

"Is that why I should stay, though?" Kate asks sincerely, trying to stop her voice from breaking. She was never good with moments like this. "Why..." Her mouth suddenly runs dry at what she was about to ask. "Why would you not consider opting me, like the twins, to someone like Eric?"

Instantly his hands let go and he leans back in his seat, looking down at her with his eyes wide. "Is that a serious question? Is... have you... you and Eric got something going on I don't know about?"

"No," Kate shakes her head, beginning to frown in confusion. "I just want to know why. You seem fine with Rose or Regina-"

"It's different, darl'. It's different."

"How?" Kate demands. "What if I want to start dating? Doing the things all the other girls are doing."

"Because, that ain't you."

"That isn't a good enough reason," Kate speaks with a sense of urgency, hoping to get something from the old man. "All I have ever done is follow and do as you say. I need to do something for myself. I can't keep being left in neutral all the damn time. Have I not proved that there is a brain on my shoulders? Have I not passed initiation to prove myself at Dauntless? Let me be Dauntless, dad."

The whole while Mick shakes his head, and on her last words, his fist hits the table. "I can't!" His mouth drops open in mortification at his outburst, scratching his short beard in agitation. "I can't because you are all I have left." He trails off and sighs before standing. "I know I can't keep you here forever, but I'm not ready to lose you just yet."

"You're not losing me-"

"So you're staying," he cuts her off and grins despite his anger. "We can talk about this when things are more settled. When you're thinking clearer, sweetpea. Right now, I know you got a lot going on, I've been there myself, and this is when we make irrational decisions." But now it seems like he's talking to himself, like he was comforting his own messy thoughts and all she can do is stare up at him from the table.

With a sigh he moves round to her side, kissing her head for a long moment. "Goodnight, darl'." And then he's gone, his bedroom door clicking softly behind him and she hears an onslaught of Lorraine's muffled, grating voice through the wall.

Kate slides back her chair calmly, huffing to herself as she passes through the hallway to her bedroom. She drops on the bed, pulling her pillow under her chin and reaches instinctively for her phone. Her eyes widen, reading one received message.

"I bet dinner was hell."

[film-soda]

Taxi Driver

Directed by Martin Scorsese and written by Paul Schrader, who drew on his own experiences of being a taxi driver in New York; Taxi Driver is considered one of the greatest films ever made, and rightly so.

In a broad sense, the film tells the story of Travis Bickle (Robert De Niro), a 26 year old Vietnam War veteran trying to find his place in the world. Early scenes of him writing down his thoughts show a young man in the midst of an existential crisis. Through the films vehicle of him manoeuvring through New York in his taxi, we see the world through his eyes, and all that’s rotten with it.

Early on in the film we see that Travis is smitten by Betsy (Cybill Shepard), a political campaign volunteer. It is common for people to try and make themselves ‘whole’ by finding their other half, and we see Travis himself giving this a go. We see Betsy early on the film; blonde, slim, and wearing a not-too-revealing white dress, angelic in appearance and arguably Travis’s view of the perfect woman.

After sitting outside of her office in his taxi, he eventually musters up the energy to speak to her and secures a date. The audience sees a charming young man, full of confidence, a story told over and over again. On this date, she informs him that a line from the Kris Kristofferson song Pilgrim reminds her of him, in that he’s a “walking contradiction”. Now as charming as we see him here, on the second date things take a turn for the worst. After securing a second date later Betsy is freaked out after being taken to a porno theatre, something she finds extremely distressing.

We see a man who truly is a walking contradiction and who has very little understanding of how to talk to someone whom he likes. He is an outlier to mainstream society – and in fact to Betsy – he is the ‘scum’ that he speaks of earlier on in the film when referring to, for example, pimps and prostitutes.

Travis also projects his desired qualities of a woman onto Betsy, which she was unable to meet. This rejection can, on a chronological basis in the film, be seen as his first step on the descent into madness. It’s also a classic trigger for male characters to then leap (firstly) within themselves and (secondly) take their frustrations out onto the world, which is exactly what Travis ends up doing.

Another way that Travis tries to make himself whole – at least for a brief period – is through political affiliation. As luck would have it, Travis finds presidential candidate Charles Palantine (Leonard Harris) in his Taxi. Travis later tells him that for the city of New York, they need to “flush the whole fucking thing down the toilet.” Charles says that he understands, but it won’t be easy.

We later see that Travis attempts to assassinate the very man whom he once supported. This off course supplants everything that came before it – and is ultimately his rejection of politics – or at least politics for the common man – in that nothing changes for him, no matter how politically involved he gets or how much he cares.

There is only one incident in which Paul Schrader, the screenwriter, explicitly demonstrates any dialogue on the concept of identity and belonging. We soon see Travis mingling with the other taxi drivers and later he asks to speak to driver Wizard (Peter Boyle) who gives him a lecture about ‘a man becomes what he does for a living’.  In this incident, Travis is so bemused by Wizard’s monologue that he dismisses the idea of a person’s job as being the indication of who that person is. Instead Travis almost vaingloriously shows he doesn’t understand what Wizard is saying but that he has “some crazy ideas.” Travis’s notion that he is bigger than his job is something that weighs him down. We see in the final act of the film how his ambition to live up to his own potential (as judged by himself) transforms him.

We later see Travis pull up to a block of apartments with a homicidal passenger (Martin Scorsese) who informs Travis that he’s going to kill the man that’s been sleeping with his wife. He goes into gruesome details of the weapon he plans to use, and how he plans to kill them both. As an audience, this is the first and only time we see Travis confront someone who is truly mad. We are therefore able to see that to an outsider, an act of such ferocity is truly mad, as it outlies what most people would do when faced with the same situation. However it also shows us that madness can afflict anyone. Travis’s shock when interacting with this man mirrors our shock in seeing Travis final act. We never actually find out if the passenger went through with what he said. All we get to see is Travis going through with what he planned. This demonstrates the difference between simple ‘words’ and ‘actions’. We all have homicidal tendencies within us, but almost all of us suppress them – that is the difference between us and Travis.

The final act of the film shows that Travis (and we, the audience, through him) are responsible for vindicating our existence, to show our worth through our actions. After befriending a 12 year old prostitute, Iris “Easy” Steensma (Jodie Foster), he decides that he’s going to save her from the hell of a life she’s falling into.

Harvey Keitel plays Charles “Sport”, Iris’s controlling pimp, who through physical and emotional manipulation prevents Iris from escaping her life. Scorsese has stated in the past that a pimp in this era certainly wouldn’t have been white, but black, but in order to not inflame racial tensions, Harvey was chosen to play the pimp. Sport is angled as Travis’ direct opposite – he happily manipulates others to get what he wants – whilst Travis, a loner and vigilante, out-lies mainstream society, at times barely understanding it, for example in the ‘porno theatre’ incident mentioned above.

Travis later arms himself, this being, as he would believe, his final act. But it isn’t. He kills those in charge of Iris’s demise, including Sport and is hailed a hero (probably also by the police, who don’t arrest him even after his antics as a vigilante). Later we are shown that Travis has pinned up an article on a wall in his humble abode which reports his victory over Sport and others. This article is a trophy to his own existence, and his own courage. In Travis’s circumstances, the fact that he’s had his ‘fifteen minutes of fame’ is enough for him to be happy with himself, even if, on the grand scale, nothing is likely to have changed.

At the end of the film, we see Betsy being picked up in Travis’s taxi informing him that she’s heard about his heroics. Once she’s been dropped off she offers to pay for the Taxi ride, however Travis drives off without taking her money. This is ultimately Travis having the last laugh – in that not only does he want her money, but he doesn’t want her. It could also be the idea that he is dismissing the whole notion of a man and a woman together as one – and that at least for him, he is more ‘whole’ in driving his taxi and being alone, than he would ever be with another person.

[walruspush87-blog]

Urgent Call for the Respect of Women and Minorities: Kevin Powell’s “My Mother. Barack Obama. Donald Trump. And the Last Stand of the Angry White Man.”

NOVEMBER 7, 2018

KEVIN POWELL’S LATEST BOOK, My Mother. Barack Obama. Donald Trump. And the Last Stand of the Angry White Man. is a collection of 13 extensive essays with adept use of personal accounts and historical insight into how the intersectionality of race, class, gender, and other forms of oppression prevent these 50 states from being a multicultural union.

The collection begins with the highly personal “Letter to a Young Man,” a poignant open letter to a young African-American college student named Sam who writes to him for advice on manhood. The first thing Powell does is let Sam know that he doesn’t have all the answers, that he doesn’t have “this thing called manhood” all figured out. In this essay, he breaks down patriarchy and how it warps young boys’ sense of manhood, imbuing them with the false idea that men are superior to women simply because they have penises. Using his own life as a backdrop for an analysis of sexism, Powell conveys the intimate details of his relationships with women, including his painful admission of pushing a former live-in girlfriend through a bathroom door, a moment Powell sees as a tipping point in his life.

I have learned since that fateful day with the bathroom door, that destructive manhood in America, or globally, does not care about your race or color or culture; nor does it care about your money or class or status. I have learned that manhood, the twisted and debilitating definitions of manhood most of us have been given, links us closely as the branches of the poplar tree.

Powell goes on to explain how sexism and patriarchy solidify themselves through institutions such as our educational system, which teaches us all about violent men, dubbing them “explorers” and “settlers,” “warriors,” “soldiers,” and “pioneers,” while largely ignoring the vast contributions that women have made to the nation and the world. He also points out the dubious role sports play in shoring up patriarchy via violence. Powell recounts his painstaking journey to rid himself of the patriarchal ideals and urges Sam and other men to do the same: “This is the kind of commitment we men need to make to ourselves: to live a life of peace, of love, of respect for women and girls as our equals.” He adds, “if we men and boys can, with humility, become allies to women and girls, then maybe we can rid the world of sexism once and for all.”

Using a keen analysis of the elections of Barack Obama and the subsequent election of Donald J. Trump along with life lessons learned from growing up in poverty with his single mother in Jersey City, New Jersey, My Mother. Barack Obama. Donald Trump. And the Last Stand of the Angry White Man. brings America to bear with itself by telling the naked truth, regardless of what the throngs of MAGA hat–wearing Trump supporters may think. Powell reminds us that in spite of all of our differences, all of our flaws, our destiny is a common one.

“I do see very clearly that we are all connected,” writes Powell in his essay “Will Racism Ever End, Will I Ever Stop Being a Nigger?”

[A]nd I truly love and acknowledge every race, every ethnic group, every identity, and every culture that exists in America, on this earth. But I, we, would be lying if we did not also admit that the longest running drama and the single most dysfunctional racial relationship in American history is between White people and Black people.

Powell contends that as long as the United States maintains this dysfunctional relationship between Black and White people, it can never begin to properly reconcile its sordid history: with Native American genocide and the theft of their land; with Latinx immigrants being viewed as anything other than criminals fueling the profits of the burgeoning prison industrial complex, and cheap labor exploited by the political whims of whoever happens to occupy the White House; Asians being seen much past the stereotypic “model minority”; and the humanity of Arabs, Middle Easterners, and Muslims largely ignored. Given this, it is no wonder why some racist elements of American society were prone to denounce the United States’s first democratically elected African-American president as a Muslim.

Powell vividly recalls in the title essay how Barack Obama, a tall, handsome, African-American community organizer, stepped out the shadows of political obscurity and into the national spotlight by doing what I honestly thought was the impossible — becoming the first African-American president in the history of the United States of America, a country whose history is steeped in the virtual genocide of Native Americans, the enslavement of Africans, along with the wholesale exploitation of women and people of color, in general. Only a few decades before Obama’s election, Black people in the Deep South, such as author Kevin Powell’s mother, who hails from the Low Country of South Carolina, could be killed for trying to exercise their constitutional right to vote for the candidate of their choice. Thus, Barack Obama’s rise to the presidency became even more significant for women like Kevin’s mother who had sacrificed all their lives to afford the next generation such opportunities they could only dream of. For them, the Obamas became the long, last fulfillment of an American dream deferred.

Powell writes: “[I]n a nation where a people who are not White and privileged are treated as outsiders, as undesirables, as interlopers, we look for sheroes and heroes we can connect to, who speak to us, who speak for us, who can be and are what we can never be in our own lifetimes.”

But for Powell’s mother, seduced and abandoned by his father, leaving her to raise alone her only son, the Obamas mean something much more personal.

Except for one Black preacher or another my mother has never had images of Black people on her walls before, not even Dr. King. But in Barack and Michelle, I am sure, my mother saw the supernatural miracle of their marriage and a love she will never have for herself, and she saw a Black man as president through the eyes of that little Black girl in South Carolina who could have never imagined such a reality, not in her lifetime, not in a million lifetimes.

Just as Obama’s presidency marked a milestone in the history of African Americans, it was also seized upon by many Whites — especially the ones in mainstream media who began touting the election as a primary example of the declining insignificance of race, some even proclaiming that we were now in a “post-racial America,” a notion that Powell rejects as “absolutely not true.” He correctly points out that anytime there is significant progress for African Americans or minorities in general, there is a major White backlash fueled by racial animus and mostly manifested via the legal and extralegal actions of Whites.

Anyone with a rudimentary knowledge of American history can see that he is one hundred percent correct. They need simply look at the history of chattel slavery, the Klan, the Black Codes, Jim Crow, redlining, the American Neo-Nazi movement, the Bakke decision, and the Reagan Revolution. If none of the above are enough, consider the salient fact that since the election of the United States’s first Black President there has been a noticeable spike in racially motivated attacks around the country. There is the phenomenon of Whites who show their psychological discomfort from sharing spaces with Black people by calling the police on them for no reason other than suspicion. Driving while Black is joined by a myriad of imaginary offenses: walking while Black, sleeping while Black, working while Black, standing while Black, studying in a public library while Black, waiting in a coffee shop while Black, picnicking in a public park while Black, and the list goes on. Any number of these imaginary offenses, which take place solely in the paranoid imagination of bigoted White folk, can get a person of color arrested, shot, or, worst, killed by a cop or a so-called law-abiding White American citizen “standing their ground.” Powell also points out that “Barack Obama has received more death threats than any other commander in chief in American history.”

According to Powell, it is this zeitgeist of hatred that led to the election of Donald J. Trump:

Indeed, what set the table for Donald Trump was the racist backlash to Barack Obama, were those Congressional members who vowed to block anything he did, those Whites in power who fanned the flames of fear by placing the blame on immigrants, on movements like Black Lives Matter, who made it seem as if they were more patriotic, as a matter of fact, than any other group in America.

The table he’s referring to is White supremacy, a doctrine as American as apple pie, one Trump adroitly uses to keep his base of largely poor, White, working-class males, who are quickly losing economic ground in a shifting global economy, blind to the cold hard fact that they are being duped into supporting policies that severely hurt their class interest, and in so blaming Blacks, Latinx, immigrants, gays, transgender people, the disabled, Muslims, and anyone else who aren’t straight, White, able-bodied males.

Other notable pieces in the book include “A Letter to Tupac Shakur,” “Why Baltimore is Burning,” “Cam Newton and the Killing of a Mockingbird,” and “Jay-Z and the Remaking of His Manhood.” Or, “The Crumpled and Forgotten Freedom Papers of Mr. Shawn Carter” and “Redefining Manhood: Harvey Weinstein and How His Toxic Manhood is Our Toxic Manhood, too.” With My Mother. Barack Obama. Donald Trump. And the Last Stand of the Angry White Man., Kevin Powell examines a salient mix of tough subjects such as race, poverty, and sexual violence with a passion and sensitivity that few writers of his generation can match.

¤

Charlie Braxton is a poet, playwright, and cultural critic. His latest book is Embers Among the Ashes: Poems in a Haiku Manner (Jawara Press, 2018).

Source: https://lareviewofbooks.org/article/urgent-call-for-the-respect-of-women-and-minorities-kevin-powells-my-mother-barack-obama-donald-trump-and-the-last-stand-of-the-angry-white-man/