#if a planet is strategically useless (by location and lack of resources)

[princesssarcastia]

bold of you to say "draft dodger" like it's something derogatory?

Satine Kryze should not be a sympathetic character.

A complex and tragic one? Sure. Every day of the week.

But she did not 'have a point', neither in-universe, not outside of the sw framework. She isn't a hero, neither of her own story, nor of someone else's. There is no way she wasn't a tool. You should not look at her and think 'this woman has done nothing wrong and what ultimately happened to Mandalore was to no part her fault'.

Because guys. Friends. Strangers on the interwebs.

Pacifism doesn't work.

And it certainly wouldn't have worked in motherfucking Star Wars – the 'wars' is literally in the title – for a system or series of systems who wanted to stay neutral.

YOU DON'T STAY NEUTRAL FOR LONG BY JUST SAYING 'YEAH, NO THANKS <3' TO A LARGE-SCALE CONFLICT.

source: I am Swiss, we've looked at this in history class. Extensively.

Satine was a dreamer (thanks Obi-Wan) who was allowed to keep her delusions because they actively benefitted Palpatine's plans. And that's something you can quote me on. There is literally no other reason (apart from supremely bad writing but we'll leave that aside here) for her and her little friends' 'Alliance of Neutral Systems' or whatever to be allowed to exist.

Not that they were neutral in any way, shape or form, by the way.

So yeah sorry to the Satine stans, but you're idolizing a character that was written exclusively and specifically for Obi-Wan's manpain and who, in-universe, was a supremely bad politician. Because the level of mental dissonace needed to factually be a Republic System, have a seat in the fucking Republic Senate, rely upon their military for aid while actively proclaiming that All Violence Is Bad And Barbaric one sentence later AND THEN CLAIM TO BE NEUTRAL IN THE WHOLE CONFLICT – it's just mind-blowing. Even moreso that people actually look at this character and see something aspirational in her.

Again, I'll gladly dissect her character any day of the week. She is fascinating because of all the implications her existence as a head of state carries with it, as well as her deeply complicated family history and her relation to mandalorian culture.

But it just grates on me personally that that all gets ignored in favor of her being some sort of icon of white american saviorism (bc that's literally what she is) and her objectively bad political takes being treated like they are the only correct stance to be taken during the Clone Wars/Mandalorian Civil Wars.

If you think pacifism works and actually lets you stay neutral, I desperately urge you to open a history book. Because those two are mutually exclusive. Especially in the scenario that Star Wars paints.

[writeyouin]

Swerve X Reader – Changes - Chapter 7

Chapter 7 – A Rescue Without a Plan

A/N – Finally back to this baby, and boy am I glad to be back.

Warnings – None.

Rating – T

“Making your way in the world today, takes everything you've got. Taking a break from all your worries, sure would help a lot.” You sang the Cheers song quietly in your cell, concentrating heavily on the cell bars.

Ever since you had forced yourself to calm down, streams of information had come flooding across your optics, revealing structural strengths and weaknesses to everything you looked at. You hoped to find something about the electrified bars that might lead to your escape, but so far, all the weaknesses were ones you couldn’t exploit from within the cell. You had long since given up on desperately trying to contact the Lost Light, figuring that something was blocking your comms.

You sighed, giving up on your song, a childish idea coming to mind. You knew nothing would come of it, but a smile reached your lips as you stared at your hand, “Go-Go-Gadget, Lock Pick.”

Naturally, nothing happened, but at least you were entertained, so you continued the game, taking comfort in the familiar words. “Go-Go-Gadget, Gun. Go-Go-Gadget, Scanner. Go-Go-Gadget, Blow Torch-” You jumped back in shock as one of your fingertips split open at the command, a strong blue flame roaring up from the split. You didn’t know whether you should be praising Brainstorm, for this was most certainly his addition, or cursing him for the cartoonish way you had accessed the tool. You were almost afraid to wonder how many of your body’s other commands were linked to the phrase Go-Go-Gadget.

Without wasting any more time, you put the flame to the bars, beginning the laborious process of escaping your cell.

As you worked, you had one more idea which you hastily tried, “Go-Go-Gadget, Manual.”

Before your optics, a string of writing cropped up, instructions on how your Cybertronian body worked. “Play audio,” You said, having been introduced to the opening menu. Perceptor’s voice filled your audials, starting your tutorial on your new body. You vented air through your systems and got to work, studying during your attempted escape.

Once he had been released from his cell, Swerve spent all of his time at the Lost Light’s shooting range, his aim never improving despite his efforts. He knew he had little hope of becoming a soldier in the time it would take to get to you, but he didn’t care, so long as he had something to keep him occupied. How could other humans be so cruel as to throw you of all people in a battle arena? You were kind and compassionate, and you would never have even considered harming another species, claiming that all were equal.

Swerve had often found you crying over books wherein humans had treated others terribly, mostly among their own species. He remembered asking you why you chose to read such books as The Diary of Anne Frank or Boy Erased, if they only served to make you upset, and you had replied that they were important to read lest history be repeated from ignorance. It was awful to think that you, the most empathetic of souls, were going to be scrapped for the entertainment of others.

Swerve knew they didn’t have long to rescue you. If the Arena’s advertisements were to be believed, you would be entering one of their battles in less than three cycles, when the new contestants would arrive to scrap you.

Swerve couldn’t forget the picture they had uploaded of you on the advertisement. You had been harmed in ways he never wanted to see, deep gashes in your arms and visible dents everywhere, yet in the picture, you were defiantly angry. He alone could recognise the fear beneath, but he couldn’t be prouder to see that you weren’t giving your captor the satisfaction of your apprehension.

He reloaded his gun, aiming it at the target, imagining it was your captors. Despite his anger, he missed, hitting a spot on the wall at least six feet from the target. Coolant sprung to his optics. You were in danger and he was completely useless. He couldn’t pilot the ship, he couldn’t shoot, it wasn’t even him that had discovered your location; that had been Nightbeat while he was too busy feeling sorry for himself. He was useless.

Rodimus’ voice rang clear through Swerve’s comms. It was a channel he had left open until you were found; that way anyone who needed him could contact him.

“Swerve, get to the board room. We have news on (Y/N).”

Swerve brusquely wiped the coolant from his optics, throwing the gun on the table before leaving. As soon as he was in the hallway, he transformed, speeding to the board room, eager for any information he could get, yet also terrified about what it could mean for you.

He didn’t say anything as he entered, his attention, like everyone else’s drawn to the video-feed of the Arena, where a human woman in acid-green armour was speaking.

“Greetings to fans, peasants, and nobles alike. It is I, Lady Ouida, your adored host of the Arena.”

Lady Ouida. Swerve glared at her holographic form, now having a name and a face to put to his enemy.

“As all of us betting royals know, there is to be a new competitor here. The foul-mouthed mini menace has refused to state her name, but we don’t care about that. We only care about one thing and one thing only. Which of our noble competitors will be the one to take her out?”

Banners depicting different armoured competitors unfurled around Lady Ouida; the scumbags that would try to take your life.

“In this message to all of you, my lovely subjects, I would like to make a special announcement. Although we had planned to set the battle for three cycles time, we have hit a little snag.”

Warmth flared in Swerve’s spark, as he hoped that the battle would be delayed even further, giving the Lost Light more time for your rescue.

Lady Ouida snapped her fingers, motioning for someone off-screen to do her bidding. The hope that Swerve had dared to feel was quickly extinguished as several trucks with chain attachments drove forward, dragging you behind them, the chains affixed to your arms.

“Our little menace here was caught roaming the halls of our fair kingdom, trying to escape her fate. She may not look like much, but she has proved to be very resourceful indeed, which I am sure you’ll keep in mind when betting.”

It looked like you desperately wanted to retort, but a modified gag stopped you from doing so. It didn’t stop you from attempting to kick at several of your captors, your pede falling short of its mark.

“NO!” Swerve cried out as you were electrocuted, making you fall to the floor. The others in the room spared him looks of pity before their attention returned to Lady Ouida.

“Spirited, is she not?” The Lady continued, spurred on by your attempted attack. “Alas, that brings me to my next point. We cannot keep her subdued for long and as such, we will have to cut betting short. You will have till the end of the cycle, for at dawn THE BATTLE BEGINS.”

The feed ended with a screen of competitors and their odds against you.

Rodimus wasted no time in addressing the room, all traces of his usual playfulness gone. “ETA to the Arena?” He asked no one in particular.

“Two cycles at most,” One of the Co-pilots answered.

“Not good enough. If you have to burn out the engines, you’ll get us there tonight. Strategy?”

Megatron brought up a hologram for the planet, pointing out the building on the map, a modernised castle with plasma-turrets as its main defences. “If it were me, I’d have the turrets hacked. The fastest route to the Arena itself is by the West wall. The ship is far too big to hide, so our best option is an outright assault. We could blast through the walls with an Alpha team. Meanwhile, a smaller Beta Team could attack the Northern ramparts, where we believe the prison cells to be located, in case (Y/N) is still being held there.”

“Who’s our hacker for this?”

“We have an accomplished team that will be led by Skids.”

“What will we need to get through the castle’s walls?”

“Ultra Magnus assures me that he has a supply of confiscated weapons from Whirl and Brainstorm.”

Rodimus nodded in acknowledgement, “You know Megatron, it’s rare, but on occasions such as this, I’m glad that you’re a crazed war-lord with a lot of strategic experience.”

Megatron looked uncomfortable at the compliment but didn’t comment.

Swerve raised his hand in what he assumed was a military fashion, “I’d like to be in the Alpha team.”

Rodimus took in some air with an awkward hiss, “Yeahhh, about that. Don’t you think you’d be better off, uh waiting to comfort (Y/N) in the med-bay or something? You’re um- You’re not exactly a good shot.”

Swerve bristled at the veiled insult. “THAT IS MY CONJUNX ENDURAE. I’LL BE GOING DOWN THERE EVEN IF I HAVE TO STEAL A POD-SHIP!”

“Okay, yep, cool. You’re there to rescue (Y/N), got it. Just… Maybe stay behind the rest of us, okay? Wait no. You go in front, I don’t want to be shot in the back or anything-” Rodimus stopped talking when he noticed more than one bot glaring at him for his lack of tact. “I mean, uh- You just go where you think is best, buddy. You got this.”

“Let’s just continue going over the plan,” Megatron interrupted, turning his attention back to the planetary holograph.

Thankfully, nobody questioned Swerve further, and he was free to remain undisturbed as the meeting went on.

Once again, you were behind bars but this time you were outside of the prison block. You were now in the centre of the Arena, which greatly resembled the Ancient Colosseums of Earth. You cradled your servo close to your body, the pain immense where your captors had crushed it after they had caught you trying to use the blow torch a second time; if there was any hope of returning to Swerve, it wouldn’t be the same way you escaped before.

With nothing else to do, you resumed listening to the recorded manual. Theoretically, you knew how to scan a vehicle and transform, so long as you found something to scan. Maybe you could convince Ouida to show you a vehicle in order to make the games more interesting. You doubted that plan would work, but if Ouida thought you were going to die in her games anyway, she might grant the request.

“In the event that you are in danger and need to record a message into your processor for an ally to discover-”

You focused on Perceptor’s instructions. Now seemed like the perfect time to record a message for Swerve, should he ever find your body. You tried to focus as your processor informed you that your voice and surroundings were being recorded.

“Swerve, I wish I could see you right now to tell you everything that’s on my mind, but if you’re watching this… Well, we know what’s happened.” You tried to keep your tone happy, but it proved to be impossible when thinking of the last time you had seen Swerve and how badly that had gone. You couldn’t stop from crying as you continued.

“Swerve, you are my whole world. I love you so much and I’m so sorry about how I acted. I was scared and confused, and… That’s no reason for the way I was. I’m terrified of what might happen to you if I die. Please, don’t think sadly on this. You have so much time left in the universe, and it’s a brighter place with you in it. No matter what happens, I need you to remember, I’m sticking with you. Never forget that you have my heart, always. I’m sorry that this is goodbye. I love you.”

Ending the feed, you hugged your knees to your chassis with your good hand, while you sat in silence and wept.

Swerve gripped the base of his chair, in the cruiser that the Alpha team had taken, hard enough to dent it. Upon reaching a close enough proximity to the planet’s surface, he had received a few dozen delayed private comms from you, the last of which was time-stamped only one hour prior. You were being kept in a cage, telling him how sorry you were and how much you loved him. If you were sticking with him, then he was going to stick right back to you.

Turbulence hit the ship, but Swerve’s determination didn’t waver. He knew it was just the first volley of attacks from the turrets, until Skids’ team would be able to disable them. Swerve remembered feeling like this thousands of times in the war. The feeling that you could be shot down at any moment on the way to your goal, but that you couldn’t think about death, lest it leech into your processor, freezing out all other thoughts. Swerve wouldn’t die. He couldn’t. Not while you were in danger. You were his mission and this was just another, smaller, war.

Swerve remembered his very first mission. His entire squadron had died, except for him. Being a mini-bot, he’d managed to hide without being discovered; he’d spent centuries hating himself for living as a coward instead of dying a hero with the rest of his squad. As it turned out, many bots had had similar experiences which haunted them. This time, he would not hide, his team would survive, they would rescue you, and Swerve would tell you every minute of every day that he loved you.

“SKIDS,” Rodimus yelled over the comms, “A LITTLE HELP WITH THE FRAGGING TURRETS.”

“Working on it,” Skids replied frantically. “They have one hell of an IT team there, Rodimus. The turrets are encrypted at least five times over.”

“Great. I’ll pass on the compliment when I meet them. Can you stop the turrets or not?”

There was a sharp silence on Skids end which was answer enough; the team would have to go in under fire.

“Okay,” Rodimus looked to his team. Ultra Magnus, Tailgate, Cyclonus, and Swerve were there, along with a few other volunteers that made their number twenty. “Plan B. We drive fast and furious, ploughing through their defences.”

The team were less enthusiastic at the thought of being shot, but none of them buckled under pressure; everyone was ready to go to your aid.

“Beta team, in position?” Rodimus asked, as they had planned to do before the Alpha Team dropped down onto the planet’s surface.

“Negative,” Megatron replied. His team comprised of Drift, Nautica, Nightbeat, and Brainstorm. It was decided that a smaller team would be better for infiltration. “The blueprints were wrong. We landed right in their armoury and are facing heavy fire.”

“HEY, NO, NOT COOL. WE WERE FACING HEAVY FIRE FIRST.” Rodimus pouted. “THAT’S OUR THING. GET YOUR OWN THING.”

“Don’t be a sparkling,” Megatron hissed. “Rendezvous here. We need backup.”

Swerve crushed another part of his chair. Meeting up with the beta team would lead them further away from you. They should face the turrets, consequences be damned. Swerve imagined reaching over to the control panel and forcing the team to drop. If he wasn’t afraid to have their energon on his servos, he’d do it. However, frustrating as it was, he left the planning up to the Co-Captains, itching for the moment that he would finally be useful. So far, everything in the plan was falling apart.

“Get ready to fight, crew,” Rodimus warned as the cruiser approached the Beta Teams location. Everyone stood up, heading to the back of the ship, “Dropping in three, two, one.”

The doors opened, leaving all the transformed vehicles to drive out on the ramp, jumping the gap onto the planet. There, the battle began. A handful of Cybertronians against a few hundred organics, none of whom seemed to be human; perhaps Lady Ouida was the only human among the organics that inhabited the planet.

Swerve raged with every shot he took. In hallways full to the brim of enemies, even he couldn’t miss. His blaster kept ringing off with compliments. Good job. Nice shootin’ Tex. You’re my hero.

However, as many shots as he got in, the enemies didn’t drop. It seemed that they were immune to most of the weapons, only stumbling slightly before they got back up to fight.

“This isn’t working,” Cyclonus growled through gritted teeth, him and Drift being the only ones to do any real damage with their swords, though they kept getting pushed back by the horde.

“Tell me something I don’t know,” Rodimus said sardonically. “Time for plan C.”

“We don’t have a plan C,” Ultra Magnus reported.

“Then improvise.”

From the corner of his optic, Swerve saw a flash of green and he spun around to see Lady Ouida herself. She was climbing over the rubble, apparently trying to reach the fast-firing ballista behind the invaders of her castle. Full of rage at the human who had dared to harm his Conjunx Endurae, Swerve rushed at her, screaming. He tackled her to the ground, grunting as she stabbed a plasma dagger into his side. He would worry about the pain later, when you were safe. For now, he didn’t care, as that was the only weapon she had and she couldn’t retrieve it from his side now that he had her arms firmly in his grasp.

Swerve had always prided himself on being gentle with you, his beloved human. However, with Ouida in his grip, he was all too aware of how easy it would be to crush every bone in her body with only the slightest bit of pressure.

“WHERE IS MY CONJUNX?” He spat at her.

“Dead.” Lady Ouida lied. “As you will be soon enough, robotic scum.”

Swerve didn’t bother to press her on her deception, knowing instinctively that she wouldn’t talk, no matter what he did. Instead, he carried her towards her army, making sure the creatures could see her.

“I HAVE YOUR LEADER,” He roared at them. “LET US PASS, OR I’LL CRUSH HER.”

The organics stopped shooting, eerily expressionless as they lowered their weapons. Ouida shot her captors a disgusted look, hating that they had bested her experimental mutants. They were made to follow orders and protect the castle, but they had also been designed to ensure that she wouldn’t be harmed; with her as a captive, they were useless.

Swerve made his way forward, but Rodimus grabbed his shoulder-plate, pulling him back.

“Hey, loving the energy buddy,” Rodimus complimented Swerve. “Great improv and all, but uh, the Arena is the other way.”

“Oh,” Swerve looked at the mutant army, who were watching Ouida like a dog watching its master. “In that case, don’t follow us, or I’ll crush her.”

“YEAH,” Rodimus fist-pumped the air. “LET’S GO RESCUE (Y/N).”

You didn’t know what to say as you were faced with the many faces of the Lost Light that you thought you’d never see again, but most importantly Swerve. For a moment, you were half-convinced that you were hallucinating again, but then he had pushed Lady Ouida into Drift’s arms and he was holding you.

He kissed your helm, pulling you into his chassis, checking over every inch of you for injuries. “(Y/N),” he murmured. “My (Y/N).”

“Swerve,” You cried his name. “Swerve. I was so scared I’d never see you-”

“Shh, it’s okay, I’m here now. I love you. Always,” He repeated your message to you, letting you alone know that he had received it.

“Not to interrupt this reunion,” Megatron said sombrely, “But enemy reinforcements could arrive at any moment, and we need to get you two to medical treatment immediately.”

For the first time, you noticed the gash in Swerve’s side, coated with freshly congealed energon; he had taken the dagger out prior to seeing you.

“She hurt you… She-”

It was your turn to scream at Ouida, “YOU HURT MY CONJUNX ENDURAE.”

You reached out to crush her with your good arm, but Drift dragged Ouida into safety, “Sorry (Y/N), but she’s our ticket out of here. If we kill her, we have no leverage.”

You glared at Ouida, “You’re lucky he values all life, you hateful witch.”

Ouida rolled her eyes, unperturbed by the raving antics of a non-organic.

“Come on, (Y/N),” Swerve ushered you ahead of the group. “It’s time for us to go home.”

Home. You thought of your hab-suite aboard the Lost Light where you had built your life with Swerve; you couldn’t wait to get back to it. Letting Swerve cradle you in his arms, you leaned on him and took your first steps back towards home.

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[rapmillionaire]

Why I no longer give money to the poor

Money can solve world problems. Any hundreds of millions of amounts of dollars can solve numerous world issues whence aptly infrastructured. In a Facebook post a few weeks ago, on the news-feed was listed that the footballer Pogba signed a $150M contract with Manchester United. Then I saw comments on how an African country that same month had sought financial assistance for their 14+ million populace, asking for a similar amount Pogba signed for in his lone contract. That had me thinking: how much would it take to solve the turmoil found in the ghettos of America, in the slums of Africa and South America, in the occupied territory of the Gaza Strip? And yet, how void would such funding become after x-amount of years due to insufficient infrastructure serving as the basis unto which the socio-economy’s prosperity is founded upon. .

And what about those who accumulate wealth, spend their riches, and live extravagantly? In my opinion, money like water will always resurface itself in the cycle of energetic abundance. Whatever water seeps from the kitchen faucet is led down through the pipes, traversing itself through more pipes, reaching ponds I imagine, whereupon it takes on the state of being refurbished, absorbed, and is poured-down again by the clouds which is then soaked by established water infrastructure systems, thus then presented in quality to flow out through the kitchen faucet again. "Water wasted" is only money wasted. And yet money is neither finite, for the cycle of cash-flow based upon supply and demand makes money available to any and all who know the law of attracting it to themselves within the economic framework of supply and demand; a tangible benefit of Capitalism (and yet ironically such same infrastructure to maintain status quo). However, such is the surface-level upon which the wealthy afford themselves to spend money on absurd luxuries whilst poor men and women sleep in the streets; the difference between the poor man and the millionaire is the will-power (or lack-thereof) to create a cash-flow into one's pocket. At a deeper level, this difference represents itself based upon circumstance, environment, and social cues; yet such isn’t much of a worthy explanation when free libraries and the internet abound in today’s American society; there is no reason why any man/woman should not be able to try to create an income for themselves in our present day and age. To say they tried but gave up is also inexcusable. And yet mental sickness too is a topic of discussion in and of itself, one in which I will not touch for this post. 

Globalization as a concept is a great idea. But as an implementation you create a lot of question marks. Are we on the right or the wrong track. The right track is globalization where everyone benefits. A bad is one win and one lose (the rich countries take over poor countries is a bad globalization). At the moment, globalization is mostly bad - it is a threat of controlling the economy. It is a monopolization. The answer is why don't we have rules - for when big countries go to poor countries - how shall they behave, how do they not exploit the people, how do you create abundance for the poor country. You do not exhaust the resources. There should be rules to the use of resources. The resources are for everybody to use efficiently. You have to create globalization "police". In our current globalization there is anarchy. There must be a system. We have to share this planet together. Well meaning people are everywhere. Well meaning people have to speak out to make the world greater for the future. -Muhammad Yunus

I like what the Grameen Foundation has created, whereupon beggars are made into sellers. As Mr. Yunus has stated before, being poor means being in poor health. It's synonymous. Charity is wonderful, but it has limited reach - you can't solve all of the world's problems through charity. And for myself personally, I wish to use an accumulation of cash to setup a platform for the homeless to feel inspired. Education is where reigniting the self belies, as aptly put by the floor plaque at the steps of Alderman Library:

Books, including free access to library shelves, and the internet are two great ways to evolve one’s being and change one's life. The internet and books is how I learned everything I know and formulated my character. The two things I owe all of my current successes and development of character to (under Him) are my parents who raised me, and my reading of books and absorption of knowledge made accessible by the internet, specifically Google and YouTube. Education is the foundation of all of a society's betterment. To say “knowledge is power” is true... But beyond that, organized knowledge of self, and not just useless information, is ever more powerful in constructing individuals and societies on the whole. With knowledge, infrastructure may be setup. And through ideal virtues such as honesty, trust, and integrity, such social institutions may be created, developed, sustained, and evolved to benefit future generations to come.

If the homeless person has lost hope & motivation, their first step is to read self-help books & begin formulating realistic goals for themselves. Strategically, they (he) must disassociate with the environment of folk whom do not benefit their (his) drive toward greater heights. They (he) must go to libraries & educate the self; and with the accumulation of whatever monetary change one has indeed accrued they (he) shall buy a shaver & soap and nail clippers and retrieve a hair-cut for the self. They (he) must develop the demeanor of self-worth, displaying humility and self-respect; to smile everyday to at least 10 strangers as he walks past them & nod his head in appreciation to their existence. He must change his demeanor from victimized to challenged, & associate God on his side through good deeds, for where God exists is in the breathe of his livelihood and up through toward the outskirts of the skies above. He must integrate than to separate from society. He must locate himself in a town where opportunity for menial jobmanship exists as a first step; and even better yet if they (he) can create a job. He must cultivate his desire to list day-to-day goals with a vision aimed beyond mediocrity of his fellow men. He must rejoice his childness into the glist of his eyes. He must make the public library his place of peace, his second abode, the monopoly of his time of existence. he must exercise weekly, both aerobically and by calisthenics. he shall understand the concept of service as to give with gratitude & graciously what he was born with to gift, and to seek to live such out as his purpose... Then, he shall pursue his course with excitement without expectation for return, for this will diminish his comparison of self to others as having faith in himself, & will rebirth spiritual loving for himself, letting go of grudges by looking outside himself and into the lens of others. he shall repent his astraying through worship in a place of worship of his choice, whether it be a mosque, church, synagogue, monastery, temple, etc. ... he shall meet, greet, and acquaint those who serve his best interest inside and outside such places of worship, for then will life ascend.

Opposite of Maslow’s Hierarchy, I believe the homeless man/woman’s conditions shall sprout evermore from the top-down view of his beingness; from the psychological to the tangible; from the spiritual to the material, invert of Maslow’s Hierarchy:

And yet what does Islam, a religion divinely revealed to humankind through the vessel of an angel and to the prophet Muhammad (saw) and followed by one-fifth of the world’s populace, have to say about the giving of money? Zakat is one of the fundamental pillars of Islam, citing to every financially able human-being to give just 2.5% of their accrued earnings to those in need, on an annual basis. And yet such formulation comes into account only upon a certain amount of accrued earnings accumulated based upon economic standards per-capita, known as “nisab”. In Sharia, nisab is the amount one’s net worth must exceed for a Muslim to be obligated to give zakat. The current rate for nisab at the moment of my writing this blog post: $3,772. In other words, anyone who has an accrued value of less than $3,772 in total assets (Jewelry such as gold, silver; Cash, in hand and/or in bank; Trade, in investments and/or value of stocks; and Loans, given and/or taken) is exempt from paying a liquid of 2.5% of their total in assets. This means that one who has a total asset amount of $3,773 must give a zakat amount of about $95 to the poor (i.e. low-income), and/or the needy (i.e. someone who is in difficulty), and/or zakat administrators (i.e. any trustworthy organization that helps you calculate your zakat and accepts the payment for it), and/or those whose hearts are to be reconciled (i.e. new Muslims and friends of the Muslim community), and/or those in bondage (i.e. slaves and captives), and/or the debt ridden, and/or in the cause of God (i.e. donations for the building of a mosque and/or muslim schools and/or muslim youth groups, and/or the wayfarer (i.e. those stranded or traveling with few resources such as refugees and/or stranded motorists, for example. 

While zakat is not the only form of charity in Islam, it is so important that it was made the Third Pillar. Through zakat, the prosperous can uplift the poor, help those who are troubled and comfort those who are in hardship. The law of zakat establishes the rights of the poor to support and help, and releases those who are held captive as slaves or as debtors. Zakat has the power to change the world. But it starts with you paying it. 

And yet I cannot but consider where a certain dollar amount extends itself in the hands of a person down-trodden. Or pan-handlers whom are able and fit to create a job than to stand on the side of a road for days on end seeking donations from the public. The ability to fix the root of an issue is of much more importance than to give sustainability amidst a broken philosophy and/or system and/or way of living. And yet those most in need are likely those too self-humbled to place themselves in front of society with their hand out for a hand-out in the form of dollar amounts. I have seen it before, and yet at times, it has become a hustle whereupon a pan-handler ends up being one behind the wheel of a nice vehicle, encouraging well to-doers to sheepishly give away their wealth. So it is in the world of capitalism. And yet, by my own character I would buy such man a meal whether his/her net worth is less than that of the nisab rate, or a billionaire. I won’t even give $1 to a random homeless person. But I will buy three of them a slice of pizza. More than tangible tender, I would give them tender in the form of an idea, a compliment, a piece of advice, a word of inspiration, a meaningful conversation - supplement to a paid-for-meal. In fact, I would give $1,000,000 to the poor. I just wouldn't put it in their hands. I would build a rooted infrastructure.

Would rather feed a bum than give a fund Why? - Ain’t tryna supply a doldrum with change To keep them unchanged for the better. . .  Would rather put that in the belly the old-fashioned way Conversate them like, "How was your day?”

Monday, May 23, 2017