#it was some kind of civil war battle reenactment or something

[lyxthen]

MESOAMERICAN FANTASY YIPPEE

I wish I could draw cool backgrounds. Man. I literally have so many ideas... I want to draw home. I want to make a version of latinoamerica that isn't ridden with corrupt politicians and crime syndicates funding the government and american intervention. I want to enjoy the forests and the lakes and the animals and the stories. I want peace and love on planet earth and a pet jaguar. I want sustainable agriculture and rainbow corn and slavery-free chocolate. I want native bees to thrive and I want monarch butterflies to thrive and I want axolotls to thrive and I want quetzales to thrive. I want clean water and public baths.

I know the aztecs were imperialists. They were, plain and simple. But if I were to daydream a better version of my home, I'd make it so there are no empires. I'd make it so there was no war. Ritual war, perhaps, war reenactment, sports and the like. Not war over resources. This is a fertile land, there is enough for everyone. And I'd like to believe humans would choose to be good.

I love the colonial and early Mexican industrial revution aesthetics, but I am saving that for my more grim-dark fantasy world. The one with wars an oppression and discrimination. Because that time period is marked by that. And I'd like to explore those themes.

I am rambling I know but listen I am just happy I am making progress with this project. I have ideas. I have the basics of a conlang laid down, I have a map, I have some short stories written down.

Something I did do is that I gave this civilization sheep. I have a middle east-like/mediterranean region, so I said sure, they can have sheep, whatever. They can have oranges and lemons (you know how much Mexicans love lime. Favorite fruit flavour tbh) and they can have linen and papyrus as well (those as imported products). Maybe pomegranates, dill and other herbs.

They don't have horses. In my mind, I always relate horses to war. I'm not giving them that. I don't want empires, I made that clear. They will be mostly small countries and city-states, then, small towns around them, and nomadic tribes further north. I have worldbuilt for the colder climate, and the tribe from there has a more centralised mode of goverment with a monarchy.

But I'm starting all wrong. The city I thought of first was Túle. It has a monarchy as well. There's a scholarly class and a peasant class and a religious class and a merchant class. I'm not creative enough to imagine a world without class differences, sorry. But I don't want people to be poor, outright. Everyone has stuff to eat. People are kind and share what they have. There's public education (this one is something the aztecs actually had, believe it or not). It is, like tenochtitlan, on top of a lake and next to a volcano, so agriculture is boomin'. Unlike the aztecs they are not a militaristic society. Warriors are well respected, but war is a ritual matter. Battles are schedule, and there's arbiters and set rules. Taking prisoners is encouraged, while killing outright is discouraged, for the most part. But people make sure the war is fair. Its a diplomatic affair. Raiding cities or killing civilians is forbidden.

This is true for most civilizations living in the plains, and the forests.

The tribes of the cold far north do not engage in war. They say their people were destroyed by war, once, and it is forbidden. They think of the people south as rather uncivilised, but they are in good terms, over all. The people down south see the northern people a similar way. There is trade between them. They have the darkest skin and curly hair, as opposed to the people on the mainland, who have straight hair and brown skin. But of course, these are not hard lines. There is no racial segregation. Báliliwa, a princess of the North, had famously long, cloud-like hair.

At the western side there is a chain of islands with a Mediterranean-like climate. Trade and sailing are important for the people there. People in the mainland tend to be scared of the sea. The sea people are not scared, and they know how to read the stars. They have linen and citrus fruit and paper. They don't have anything similar to a centralized goverment. They are composed of mostly prosperous small towns.

The people living in the desert are nomadic as well, but more similar to the city people in values. They get along very well. They maintain trade routes alive.

In the very south, in the warmer forests, there is a bigger emphasis on academia. Astronomy, magic, architecture and such. They have city states as well. They plant cacao and zapote, papaya and mamey, and vanilla.

In terms of domesticated animals, we have turkey, bulls, sheep, alpacas, dogs, cats, rabbits, bees, silkworms, capibaras and ñandús. There have been failed attempts ar domesticating deer, but it remains an important source of meat, all things considered. While I didn't plan including an analogue to incan societies, since I am not familiar with them, I just think Alpacas and Capibaras Ñandús are adorable. They are so cute... How could I not have them?? The bees and the silk worms are native species (the bees are Melipona bees, and the silkworms are some saturnidae moth, similar to their Asian counterparts).

The staple crops are of course corn, beans and pumpkins/zucchini/squash. Yes they have tortillas. If medieval high fantasy worlds can have bread I can have tortillas. There's also potatoes, amaranth, peanuts, avocado, tomatoes, tomatillo, and pepper. Of course there's pepper! Many varieties. Nopal is also important in people's diets. There's milk, which means there's cheese, which means you can make Enchiladas Suizas!!

For fibers, there's linen (expensive export) silk (time and labor intensive) cotton and ceiba fibers. There's also leather, and fur/pelts. Producing these fibers, and spinning and weaving and embroidery are ocupations held in very high regard.

The magic system of my world is animistic, and therefore the religion is as well. Everything is alive and sentient, therefore, everything can be *befriended*. Since this is my little escapist world, I wanted to have a magic system based on friendship. So you can befriend the wind or the sea or the earth, or fire or snow, and light and shadow, and they will help you when you if you are in need. But most people befriend the things that are around them, because the souls of the earth or the wind are too big. They might befriend the land which they plant, or a specific kind of plant, or the shore of a single river. Everything has a soul and a personality, even a rock on the side of the road can become a friend. Or an enemy. People are very respectful of nature, because you don't want to anger it. You want to be in good terms with it.

These souls can take physical form as well. They don't do this often, however. They also speak their own language, different from that of humans. But a lot of them have learned to speak with us, when there's the need. The form they take is accord to their temperament, so a river might take a fish-like form, for example.

There's six great wills that rule over the world, and that together encompass the concience of the world itself. There's the Sun, the Moon, the Sky, the Earth, the Stars, and the New Moon. These are like, the big ones. The legends. The oldest ones, and therefore the most aware. The older a thing gets, the more aware, the more powerful and wise. And this includes man-made things.

Spirits can marry and have children with humans, in their physical form. Nwibahen, for example, is daughter of the Early Snowfall. Nitahen was the daughter of the Light of Dawn. Just like you can befriend a spirit, you can also make them fall in love with you, you can make them resent you, you can be in diplomatic terms with them, etc.

I realize this post got out of hand. Uh. Sorry. This is very unorgsnized, and will be subject to changes. Aaa

Ss

No one will read this lmao. He accidentally wrote a fucking. A fucking. Idk how many words this is. But anyway.

[cintasfics]

Weekend Warriors - 1x06

Marley goes with the boys to the park, thinking they’re just there for a picnic or a nice hike

Shawn: What’s with the binoculars? Marley: Birdwatching. I bought my pocket guide too, fits into the bag perfectly, see? Shawn: Amazing. How old are you again? Marley: Shut up, it’s a fun and interesting hobby Shawn: Not the words I would use, but sure, if you say so

She’s thrilled once she sees the civil war rehearsal

Marley: Oh sweet, this is just like that episode of South Park! Or The Simpsons! Gus: Does all your knowledge of American culture come from tv shows? Marley: Movies too Gus: And is that Lassiter? Shawn: Yes, it is Gus: What died on his face? Marley: Huh, didn’t take him for a LARP’er

When Shawn makes their presence known to Lassiter, Marley sends him a friendly little wave

Back at the site of the reenactment after the meeting down at the police station, Shawn catches them up on the situation

Shawn: Gus, she was hot, and she was dressed as a nurse. You know how I feel about that. [Noticing Marley’s side eye] I say with the utmost respect for the profession

She agrees with Shawn’s hunch that this is a murder case

Marley: There’s no reason for live ammunition to be anywhere near this place, and with most of the people being cops, I would hope that they would be able to tell the difference between real and fake bullets. This had to be intentional

Sitting on the bridge watching Lassie give his orders

Lassiter: Find something amusing? Shawn: Mildly amusing. More odd. Delightful, in a queer sort of way Marley: [Nodding along] I find it cute how seriously you take all this Shawn and Gus: [Send her a questioning look, Lassiter and cute not going together in their minds] Lassiter: [Is taken aback by her comment, taking a second before continuing] Lassiter: What are you guys doing here anyway? Gus: I’m a bit of a civil war buff Marley: I just love this kind of stuff

She continues to be impressed by Shawn’s memory and perception, struggling to believe he memorised the war map so quickly and was able to recreate it in their office

Having agreed to cover a co-workers shift at the hospital, she misses the trip to the dentist, but when Shawn approaches her the next day with his plan to infiltrate the camp she is immediately on board

Seeing all the cool stuff in Mahoney’s collection, and being a history lover herself, she struggles to pay attention to what they’re saying

Marley, practically vibrating with excitement: Is this real C-4? Is it authentic? Gus: Better yet, is it even legal? Mahoney: For the reenactments. We fudge the fireworks sometimes. Our audience goes wild every year when the fake cannon fire showers them with dirt Marley: That’s so fucking cool Gus: [Clears throat] Marley: Sorry. I mean, that’s really cool

Due to the lack of remaining women’s roles in the battle, Marley ends up acting as a soldier (tying her hair back and wearing fake mutton chops), much to Gus’ displeasure

Gus: Why do I have to wear all these tassels and feathers, while she gets a regular uniform? Marley: Gus, buddy, I’d swap with you if I could but I think it’ll be a bit of a squeeze on your end Gus: What are you trying to say, Marley? Marley: Nothing! You’re just a lot broader in the shoulders than the guy this costume was intended for Gus, to Sally: Maybe you could alter it? Sally: I’m sorry Gus, it’s just not possible Shawn: Well, I think you look great Gus: Be quiet, Shawn

She admonishes Shawn for bringing his tv and portable stove with him, saying it goes against the whole idea of camping out, but can’t deny the temptation of his gaming system

When they find out Sally is the target after investigating the field and tree

Gus: Why would someone want to kill Sally Reynolds? Marley: Well, she works in insurance Shawn: So? Marley: Money is a good motive for murder, top 10, some would say Gus: But she only writes the policies, she doesn’t gain anything Marley: I don’t know, but I’m sure it plays into it somehow

They steal Sally’s dress, with the intention of putting Marley in her place but they’re stopped by Juliet, who refuses to let them endanger themselves

After Juliet comes out unscathed and they find Mahoney’s uniform on the other side of the hidden tunnel

Shawn: Wait. This doesn't track. Why kill Sally? She's hot, they're friends. She even wrote his insurance policy [Explosion] Marley: That was the C-4! Shawn: That didn't come from the battlefield, it came from the south [All three of them share a look] Shawn: I solved the crime! Gus: No, I did! Shawn: I said it first Gus: I identified the uniform Shawn: I found the button near the tree. I said it first. Tap, tap, no take-backs Marley: Guys! You’re forgetting something very important! Both: What? Marley: I solved it yesterday!

Back at the station, as Lassiter passes the three of them to leave the room after wrapping up the case

Lassiter: Excuse me… [pauses to look Marley up and down, the woman still in her uniform, sans the hat] gentlemen…

[the-firebird69]

Some people say that this year is 76 and some people say that it's next year and this year's the preamble and some people say that part of it is this year and then 76 would be next year that actually makes sense because the civil war is going to start too and it is headed that way Donald Trump is cordoned off and bja is a heavy amount of equipment against them and troops and it looks like that's what's happening. This is a battle of Brooklyn and it's really Brooklyn heights mostly and general George Washington was fighting actually it's general howe at the time he was a British soldier and British commander he was going back and forth and he was holding Brooklyn is fierce fighting but it was not extreme the numbers were not really high this year we feel it will be extreme and it's during The sopranos series and they're fighting Trump a lot of them and Tony soprano usually plays the Germans and the French in this case he's not playing the Germans he's playing a version of the rebels and they hate him and he's acting like the empire and he's not and he is cordoned off and he feels he can break through and it's a deception when the armies at that time which is only 17 days from now or less really are huge by that time and he's taking a beat down so it goes for Brooklyn of all places he holds it for some time and we think it's until next year early and loses it there's a battle in the revolutionary war towards the end it's having very quickly all of these dates at the same time and we feel that April 15th is the last day that's during 1865 civil war reenactment it doesn't go past it because of the analogy it might but he loses big time and he's pretty much out and he can't get here so they try and get him here and people fight it and it starts with the max over him and it was in Mexico and after the Shawshank redemption and Andy looked at Garth and he didn't say anything in I understand it's like being fought over like someone is helpless like me. So he says BG started the loser club and I guess we're in it I'm not the big guy who gets knocked out that's Trump's son and he says shut up. So he's going to help of a position that says your brain is not too big I can actually carry it to Utah if I have to put it inside mom so Mom can go inside of Camilla and Camila can go inside and he said shut up for Christ's sake that's gross and Tommy will do it when he's a Friend of the devil and there's a whole bunch of people saying our son is the devil but they'll say it more pretty soon. This battle is pretty big and he holds Brooklyn but because he's doing that he's getting his ass kicked everywhere else that's what happened in the revolutionary war if you look at further years so he's going to do that and there's quite a bit going on in August and because of Brooklyn they start to try and help our son as they start retrieving stuff he was taking all over the place

Thor Freya

Olympus

Maybe just get something to eat it's kind of late

Hera

Probably

Zues

[gutsposting]

We do almost everything in an old-fashioned way on the ship. When they built it they wanted things to be familiar, for people to get comfortable. The government also had the aim of encouraging people to go outside more than they had in the years before we left Earth, they said they wanted it to be “more like the twentieth century.” I don’t think it worked. We have bars and movie theaters like they did, but sometimes the only customers are robots. They find that kind of stuff quaint, I suppose.

Technically I’m not a cop. “Community Safety Officer” was the actual name of the job, since generalized police officers had been phased out in favor of unarmed civil servants with specialized tasks. I was armed, but only due to the recent uptick in violent anti-robotic activity over the last few months.

Last night I was reprimanded for allowing two of the robots to duel one another at the ball I was running security for. One of them had offended the other, and they were both brought an ancient flit lock pistol, firing at one another the way two rich people might have done five hundred years ago. Because no one’s life was taken, since the robot who lost would simply be replaced, I didn’t think it was necessary to charge the shooter with a crime. My overseer disagreed.

It was an enjoyable assignment. They organized a dance in an old attic they renovated to resemble that of an 18th century chateau. Cramped together, a hundred robots twirled in pairs. Many more mingled together, chatting and pretending to drink champagne. An ensemble band of twenty synthetic musicians played Tchaikovsky with mathematic efficiency. The tin men wore the deep green uniform of old Russian soldiers, the women adorned in white puffy dresses typical of the period.

I know that a lot of people get really worked up about the robots, but I can’t find any reason to be bothered by them. In fact, I enjoy their company quite a lot. Of course I find displays like this to be somewhat strange, but many of the robots have taken the time to remind me of an ancient human tradition called “historical reenactment” that was popular among some older people before we left Earth. Instead of plotting out a battle from American Civil War, they preferred to spend their free time indulging in the antiquated finery that we humans chose to give up a long time ago.

Besides, they provided everything for these occasions out of their own pockets. They paid my salary, stuffed my hands with tips, and usually went out of their way to hire humans to preform any task that they were available for. The only problem was that no human wanted to be a waiter, dishwasher or janitor anymore. Yet they still complained whenever they saw a robot hire another robot for a job.

The Biological League were the silliest bunch of people I’ve ever met. They were the ones who were supposedly “standing up for my rights as a worker” when they tried to shut down events like these. I remember the day they decided to shift away from that kind of talk. I was sitting in a bar, I was a lot more stupid when I was that age, and I was watching the trial of that bot who stabbed a man. Apparently the guy was trying to steal some clothes off of the robot. The robot said he was wearing new boots and that the man demanded he take them off.

The robot was a woodcarver who made toys and figurines and statues that were fairly popular. That day he accidentally kept a tool in his pocket from the shop, something that looked like an ice pick. This became the central thesis of the prosecution’s argument. “No robot does anything on accident. It is impossible for them. We submit that the defendant simply having this item in his possession is enough to prove premeditation.”

The defense objected that their expert witness, who had testified in a hearing I hadn’t seen on TV, “provided clear evidence that the current capabilities of the machines is much more impressive than what the prosecution claims. These modern marvels develop complex personalities based on their experiences with humans, and through the consumption of human culture. This process is so refined, that were it not for legislation that demands the robots retain their current appearance, they could not be distinguished from humans without blood testing or surgical examination.”

All in all, the robot was found not guilty due to self-defense. My reaction was astonishment, I remember shouting at the TV in the bar like it was a fucking sports game. It’s embarrassing to think about those days. Eventually the League rallied behind the family of the dead man. “No robot has the right to take the life of a human.” Became their new message. A general rollback of their rights, with the outward stated goal of “limiting the role the machines play in our lives.”

Not much changed with the case, however it did reaffirm the fact that robots were legally protected in the same way as humans. This wasn’t even fully true. They paid taxes at a rate nearly double that of humans and were banned from representing themselves in Congress or any job that was political in nature. They chose to be doctors, were banned from being lawyers, were forced to become accountants and bankers, and were randomly drafted to take breaks from their normal jobs in order to preform manual labor.

But they never complained. Not publicly, and not ever to me directly. Even when humans spied on them, it could never be proven that they had some kind of rebellious intent or animosity towards humans in any private conversations they recorded. I knew this instinctively, because if even one robot could be proven to be a genuine murderer, I would see it on the news every second of every day. The government might even get up off their asses and pass a law to do something about it.

Back then I believed a lot of the things that “pro-human” organizations said. But when I went to a job center for the first time, I realized it was all bullshit. Rather than “stealing our jobs”, the bratty little man at the center explained to me that I could have my entire education funded by the state if I promised to become a doctor. “Too many people are getting into the hospital or going to their personal doctor, and they keep complaining that the nurses and sometimes even the doctors are ‘being replaced’ by robots. We can promise over 1.25 million a year in salary for your first five years, and after that you can-“

The only thing I had any interest in back then was music. I asked him if he knew any jobs that I could get playing piano, and he shrugged his shoulders. Instead of replying, he handed me a thick brochure titled “Helping us Help You” and stood before saying “just holler if you need anything.” His smile really pissed me off for some reason.

I left without taking any job. I survived off of the checks they pay everyone because of “overproduction” brought on by the robots. It’s enough for no one to ever need to work, but people get restless. Some want to just make more money, I just wanted something to do. I tried finding somewhere to at least make a few bucks playing the piano but I just found myself getting nowhere. Composition wasn’t my thing, and I’ve never been able to concentrate on playing for hours straight.

Eventually I saw a poster that said something about “helping the community” and I looked into it. “Synthetic Patrol?” I asked the guy taking down my information. “What kind of trouble can they be up to? Armed? It says these guys have guns?”

He looked like a soldier from a 1950’s movie. “Yeah, they get guns, but it’s not what you think. See, the rich robots like doing a lot of fundraisers and other B.S. stuff that they want security for.”

“But it’s not like they’re worried about a fight breaking out, right? No drunk machines getting dragged from the open bar, and kicking and screaming and shit?” I felt hot all over when I laughed a little too hard at my own joke, and saw that the other guy wasn’t laughing at all.

“Um… no. Not like that.” He turned his computer monitor around. He had pulled up an article on the screen titled “Twenty Robots Shot at Music Festival, Only One Survives.”

“Why the would anyone do that?”

“You haven’t seen this shit?”

“I don’t really read the news.”

He made a smug look and said “well, you should.”

In my training, it was all about helping the community. Keeping them safe. I agreed with everything they said. Of course it was wrong for them to have to worry about getting shot in public. They might not be alive like you and me, but they don’t want to stop existing. They treat the idea of getting “killed” as though it’s a horrifying thing, and it’s not like they have their consciousness uploaded into a new body. When they get destroyed, that’s it. One bullet to the head or the chest, and they don’t exist anymore.

But I think I’m going to retire today. I was sitting next to a flower bed. Cigarettes are illegal so I have to be careful who sees me smoking. I had a scoped rifle, and all humans were strictly banned from entering the plaza. “Any Violators Will Be SHOT.” I thought the sign was enough.

No humans showed up, but some rat bastard planted a bomb. It went off as they were all listening to a speech from one of their union organizers. Two hundred and fifty of them died, and I failed them all.

I’m done writing about it for tonight. I’m out of vodka anyways.

[rockshortage]

wasn't there an event at prickett's fort at some point or am I imagining things

[sareesinthewind]

Photo 1: Violet Jesudas, Wellawatta, Illangai Photo 2: Anna with her amma Sugi and appa Harry, 1985, Geelong, Australia The below is an article that was published on Warscapes by Anna Arabindan Kesson in 2019.  Remembering the Sri Lankan Civil War My grandmother always reminds me: you have lost your mother-tongue. When I return to Sri Lanka for brief visits, she tells me how I used to understand her. Like my nephews and nieces do now when I was a child, I would listen to spoken Tamil and reply in English. There is nothing I can say to her accusation except to agree. Yes, I have lost my mother tongue, the words, the sounds, the rhythms of speaking to which I was born. I willfully lost this language, after we moved to Australia where my voice, my skin, my body continually marked me as foreign, different, other. As we all know, primary school children can be cruel: losing my mother-tongue was a way to survive. I have often wondered if, had I continued to learn and speak Tamil with my mother, I would find myself now, almost thirty-five years after our migration and ten years after the end of the Sri Lankan civil war, with more articulate means of commemorating the past. So much has been lost as a result of that war. Tens of thousands of Tamil lives were lost – a genocide occurred and still remains unacknowledged – the destruction of Tamil sacred sites and their reconstruction into Buddhist temples, the seizure of formerly Tamil-owned land in the north by the government, the erosion of villages and communities through displacement and the disappearance of  family members whose whereabouts remain, even ten years after the war’s end, unknown. While the government has created official memorials to commemorate their victory over the LTTE – a decimation that included the shelling of Tamil civilians caught in so called no-fire zones – no other casualties may be mourned. Former LTTE burial sites have been erased in the north and military monuments mark the site of major battles. In effect what continues to be lost is the experience of Tamils affected by the war. That is why I wonder whether, if I had recourse to the sounds and figures of Tamil, to the expressions and phrases and cadences of speaking and reading Tamil, I might also find another route to grieve and remember and commemorate that would allow me to move around the contested terrain of the war’s aftermath. In this contested terrain, so I am realizing, the history I have just described is disbelieved by some. In order to even remember what has been lost, I have to make a case for it. And to make the case I have to retell this story – a story that is part of me, although I did not experience its effects firsthand, although my family did, because I left Sri Lanka when I was almost six. So, my grief came from watching at a distance, it was formed from a place of safety for people I did not personally know. But retelling what I grieve for requires finding a language within a language, it means framing within recognizable forms, describing using recognizable signs, summarizing using familiar terms. Because, commemorating these acts of genocide when they take place in non-western countries also requires producing their reality for the west. But language has also been politicized in Sri Lanka; In 1956, under the Official Language Act No. 33 Sinhala was declared the only official language, replacing English which had been imposed under British colonial rule. It was only in 1988 that Tamil was legislated as an official administrative language of the country (not just the north-east region as was legislated by the 1958 Tamil (Special Provisions) Language Act). Language in Sri Lanka is so inextricably linked to identity, has been so carefully legislated to divide communities and generations and is now identified as a key component of the post-conflicted reconciliation process. Because of this importance, where and how we recount these narratives becomes all the more urgent. As V V Ganeshanthanan writes, to mourn these deaths requires a series of retelling: I must retell not only the version of the story I consider the truest and the worst, but also the versions in which no one died, or in which those who died are unworthy of mourning. My words must reenact and contain not only the deaths and my grief, but also their negation. One must parse and explain what is lost. Yes, lives. Also, land. And homes. And then there is the matter of those who have not been returned, who remain in camps awaiting resettlement, somewhere between lost and found. Always we remember those who have been taken away and remain unknown – neither lost nor found, neither alive nor dead. Lost too is trust, or at least a belief that politicians might work towards some kind of reconciliation and return of Tamil civil rights. When the war ended, then President Rajapaksa announced this ‘liberation’ from terrorism was the beginning of a new phase of unification. And yet, only recently has the government acknowledged there may have been some civilian deaths as a result of their scorched earth policy of attack. The UN – who vacated their workers from the conflict zone before the war ended – has found both the government and the LTTE to be guilty of human rights abuses, but transitional justice has never been fully implemented. Discrimination, surveillance and censorship continue. And while the government does not acknowledge its role in the Tamil genocide, it is equally important to acknowledge the role of the LTTE in this loss. For while loss can be a catalyst for collective mourning, in the case of Sri Lanka its politicization continues to sustain competing visions of nationalism that underpinned the war in the first place. The politicization of grief in the aftermath of the war’s end is all the more painful and violent because it means that remembrance requires first working through the instrumentalization of loss, before even beginning to reach a place from which to build our memorials. In parsing, I find it hard to hold onto and center grief because each time grief overwhelms me. When I am overwhelmed, I have a tendency towards turning away and finding distance. And for me, experiencing this war and its aftermath has always been mediated through distance: grief is for those I do not know, for a community I left long ago, for a country in which I am almost a stranger. In these moments I cannot help but wonder: if I spoke my mother tongue still, would I be able to find some way of bridging this distance? Would I find a space to say those names who have been lost or speak the towns and villages erased, or find some poetry or song that framed this loss for me, in another private way? Speaking about his own relationship to Tamil, writer Anuk Arudpragasam has explained in interviews, that speaking English in Sri Lanka is a public marker of a certain status achieved and, maintained. It is a colonial language, a language I have had to move with in order to appear recognizable. I had probably started losing my tongue before I even began to speak. English is a language in which loss can become internationally validated in our western political landscape, making it both highly publicized and easily politicized. This would be the case, no doubt, whenever one is dealing with any language that is hegemonic. But when you no longer have any other language with which to probe an inner, unseen world of mourning, your memorialization must always and only take place in public, its validity dependent, so it seems, on being recognized.It is this relationship between public and private validation that acts of commemoration must mediate: a memorial creates the space for communal remembrance, threading what is expressed privately into a shared narrative. Without a physical place to perform these acts of public remembrance, official forms of language – and phrasing – also become significant markers. For example, in Sri Lanka civilian deaths are only begrudgingly underacknowledged by the Sri Lankan government as collateral damage, but they have no public space of remembrance, in the country itself. Tamil women continue however to sustain the public work of remembrance as they search for loved ones. Refusing government directives, these women create shrines and distribute posters that compel us to not forget. Tamil artist Thamotharampillai Shanaathanan has compiled an archive of living memories in his artist book The Incomplete Thombu. Re-using a Dutch word for land registry, his public registry is a collection of memories of home, drawn and recounted by the communities forced to flee from the Jaffna peninsula. The book is divided into drawings, topographical renderings of participant’s homes as they remembered them for many are destroyed and a typed narrative. Using the language of ‘accounting��� or accountability that underpins the competing discourses around the war – the need to prove or collect evidence that certain things happened and certain things did not – he transforms this bureaucratic violence into a receptacle that commemorates what has been lost. Shanaathanan’s act of storytelling, which is also an act of reclamation of the lost from the erasure of the official record, is itself a powerful form of memorialization in the shelter it provides for those displaced. Along with other projects such as Sareesinthewind and Stories of Resilience, these forms of storytelling also rewrite the narrative of Tamil survivors. The women, men and children who tell their stories voice their struggle and their perseverance: they are not merely victims. And so I think of these projects often as I contemplate what it is to commemorate the ten-year anniversary of the end of the Sri Lankan war, without either a public space in which to come together with others, or the familial language by which to vocalize something like a shared memory. They are stories of women and men who have, as V V Ganeshanthanan also urges, refused to be defined by catastrophe, who have built, using what they have, their stories, a memorial to what has been lost. Their voices generously create space for careful forms of witness. Their stories urge us to continue the call for the restoration of Tamil civil rights and, particularly in this current climate of social and political unrest, to work against the cultures of violence and religious extremism that are tacitly ignored (or otherwise) by government administrations who continue to fall back on restrictive measures of securitization. It is from this space that I will be remembering the ten-year anniversary on May 19th, while I also begin the long and arduous journey to reclaim my mothertongue. Anna Arabindan Kesson was born in Sri Lanka but grew up in Australia and New Zealand. She was a nurse for several years before completing a PhD in African American Studies and Art History in 2014. She now lives in Philadelphia and is Assistant Professor of Black Diaspora Art at Princeton University where she writes and teaches about art, race and empire. Twitter @AnnaArabindan

[girl-debord]

Cultural Exegesis: Cops on Television

The following is an essay I wrote for a cultural interpretation class last semester.

Surfing the channels on television or scrolling through the selection of shows on Netflix or Hulu, it is just about impossible to miss the waves of police procedurals that saturate American media. As of the week of March 4, 2019, two television programs out of the Nielsen Top 10 list for Prime Broadcast Network TV were dramas focusing on crime and police. Even in shows that aren’t built around the police procedural genre, police feature disproportionately as on-screen characters.

Television dramas following cops are, by this point, a well-established fixture of American media. These shows have been around since the late 40s and have their roots in films about western sheriffs and private detectives. Decades of this kind of entertainment have laid the groundwork for a new set of archetypes of cop characters and made possible the rise of police-centric TV of other genres, including comedies like Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Castle.

In a 2016 interview with The Frame, researcher Kathleen Donovan, co-author of a study entitled “The Role of Entertainment Media in Perceptions of Police Use of Force,” told journalists that her findings showed that people spend more time consuming entertainment media than news, and that that affects their perceptions of the police. “By far the largest impact was on perceptions of how effective the police are,” she said. “In the content analysis, the way police are shown in these shows is that they're incredibly effective. People who watch these shows tend to think that police are a lot better at their job in terms of clearing crimes than they are in reality.” As the name of her study implies, Donovan has also found that television alters public perception of police violence. “It's almost always portrayed in a justified light,” she said. If a cop steps out of line, it is in order to punish someone the show has already proved to the audience is evil or to extract necessary information from a criminal.

While many people feel that they can distinguish between real and fictional cops, Donovan pointed out something that is troubling—“The problem is, [viewers] don't have other places that they're getting this information from,” she said. “They're not getting a lot of interaction with the police officers on a day to day level.” Even a discerning media consumer is likely to spend much more time around the cops of television than the cops of the real world. It is simply impossible to be really unaffected by this.

Of course, the idea that our media consumption habits affect our views should come as no surprise, even when the particular effect a piece of media has is disturbing. But the reason Donovan’s findings are significant is because these television programs do not spring up out of nothing. Certainly there would not be so many cop shows on TV if there was no demand for them, but that demand has its roots in something more sinister.

Matthew Alford reported for The Conversation in 2017 that since the establishment of its Entertainment Liaison Office in 1948, the Pentagon has been involved in the production of more than 1,100 television shows. And at a local level, individual police departments have worked with television producers to create positive PR consistently over the last several decades. In a letter to an ad agency in 1968, Bob Cinader, who was working on the upcoming show Adam-12, wrote, “Like all major police departments throughout the country, the LAPD's two biggest problems are recruitment and community relations. They feel that a series about the uniformed police officer would be of even greater help to them in particular and the cause of law and order in general.” In the wake of the Watts riots of 1965 and a growing sense of anti-authoritarian sentiment, turning to TV was a strategic move for the LAPD. In the time of the Rodney King riots and growing unrest, shows like Law & Order filled a similar role. Even in recent years, NYPD scandals and a resurgence of real critique of the police coincide with Brooklyn Nine-Nine and Blue Bloods.

The relationship goes beyond purely fictional television and into the realm of the late-80s boom of reality television, which turned its eye onto the police with John Langley’s COPS. “COPS’ foremost legacy, aside from its forceful introduction of a new form of televisuality, is as a highly effective PR bullhorn for the ‘human’ side of police-work,” writer Eric Harvey explains in a 2015 essay for Pitchfork. “Reenactments were replaced by what Langley called ‘raw reality,’ which encouraged a voyeuristic position to take in the action. The reality of raw reality, of course, is that COPS traded any pretense toward objectivity for an unprecedented level of backstage access; in the show’s world, perpetrators are anonymous while police officers are well-rounded characters who provide each episode’s narrative arc.”

In the 90s, whether through the sleek stories of Law & Order or the police-raid porn of COPS, television viewers were already absorbing content that would shape their understanding of law enforcement. Even if this content was not directly created by police departments or the Pentagon, in most cases, it had the approval of these authorities, and more importantly, police television going forward would be built upon the very positive image that these shows generated. A contemporary television program might never have its scripts reviewed by a government agency or work with police departments as PR, but in all things pertaining to the cops, the cultural propaganda had already worked its magic. The “good cop” archetype that shows like Adam-12 and Dragnet had worked so hard to make was already a known commodity, an established trope to build on and work with.

But more than the image of the squeaky-clean cop that captured the imaginations of many Americans, the most effective tool in changing the public perception of police has been the methodological understanding of the world that entertainment like this presents to its audiences. As Kathleen Donovan pointed out, the use of force by police is almost unilaterally justified by the narratives of the shows that depict them. “Within a minute and a half of the first episode, the show has summed up its central message: Police violence works,” Aaron Miguel Cantú writes in his 2014 review of Chicago PD. “This is relayed again and again throughout the series: When a cop with a chain-wrapped fist savagely beats a Spanish-speaking suspect demanding an attorney until he relinquishes a tip; when officers debase the idea of policing without intent to arrest; when cops round up black non-criminals and deliver them to precinct torture chambers. In every episode, these methods achieve the desired ends.” The image gritty cop programs like this present of police departments is one of a world that is, perhaps realistically, filled with violence. But in order for the police to be the heroes of this world, the plot must produce ends sufficient to justify the means: the arrest of a violent criminal, the prevention of a dangerous terrorist act, etc.

The underlying implication here is an idea that has come to be woven through much of American media: the world is a dangerous place, and authoritarian measures are a necessary evil to protect the innocent from the criminal. As the philosopher Thomas Hobbes put it, “The condition of man is a condition of war of everyone against everyone.” And certainly Hobbes would approve of this picture painted by cop shows: the rights of criminals (who are at any time determined to be so by law enforcement) are incidental to preserving order and so must be subsumed into the Leviathanic police state for the good of everyone. The television programs can do their best to portray cops as wholesome defenders of the peace. But at some point, there needs to be a little realism—the fact that these people carrying guns on behalf of the state employ violence as a part of their job is too obvious to ignore. So the TV instead presents us with police forces who do engage in violence, who do things which would be unspeakable for any real-life civilian—but they present us with the kind of world that makes this justifiable, a dangerous, threatening world in which everyone is an enemy. Donovan highlights the fact that the majority of television crimes are murders—a gross overrepresentation, but one that helps to uphold this image. This is the kind of world that justifies police violence. The narrative is not just about trusting the police, it’s about being afraid enough of everyone else to believe firmly that everything the police do is necessary.

This is the world of COPS. As Tim Stelloh writes in a 2018 article for The Marshall Project, “Civil rights activists, criminologists, and other observers have described [COPS] as a racist and classist depiction of the country, one in which crime is a relentless threat and officers are often in pitched battle against the poor black and brown perpetrators of that crime.” It’s a fascist’s view of society, coming here not from writers but from the police themselves, whose commentary frames the events of each episode. COPS gives viewers a taste of the reality of American law enforcement, just not the reality it claims. The program allows us to see the role of police as they see themselves, in full, action-packed detail.

The other side of this authoritarian outlook has become a media obsession in recent years, perhaps nearly to the extent of police procedurals. The appeal of shows like NBC’s Dateline in presenting the shock and horror of crime has proven effective even with a more dramatic format. Where Law & Order walked the line between the heroism of the justice system and the horror of crime, programs like Criminal Minds tend to delve deeper into the latter. This kind of media, lending its attention to serial killers and brutal rapists, provides a necessary balance for the traditional cop dramas. Hannibal, American Crime Story, and adjacent programs give us criminals who are as intelligent and charismatic as they are violent—worthy opponents for an increasingly militarized and surveilling police force. Of course, one might argue that these characters are clear fantasies to audiences, like supervillains or space aliens. But if most viewers have little interaction with police, how much experience can they be expected to have with killers? The intellectually or socially capable murderer provides the kind of fear necessary to move people towards embracing the total authority of law enforcement—both on-screen and in real life.

This fear is more congruent with later cop shows whose focus on gritty violence in the name of justice measures up to the violence of depraved criminals that fascinates audiences. But the friendlier image of police from the days of Adam-12 still finds its place in modern television. One niche is in the aforementioned police comedy—shows such as NBC’s Brooklyn Nine-Nine give us police to relate to and enjoy who are earnest in their pursuit of justice and can accomplish their (admittedly tamer) goals with minimal violence and maximal shenanigans. In a time of pubic distrust for the police, B99 excuses its cops from blame by contrasting them to bad cops and making gestures toward the notion that police violence is an issue of concern. But a show that concerns itself mainly with police as a wholesome source of comedy is ill-equipped to deal with the uncomfortable realities of the NYPD’s behavior. How often is Andy Samberg’s good-hearted character called upon to evict homeless people from parks or cooperate with ICE officers to detain migrant families? Citing the NYPD’s record-low public opinion ratings, Will Leitch writes in a review for Bloomberg, “This hasn’t reached the world of Brooklyn Nine-Nine. The only people who hate cops on Brooklyn Nine-Nine are the wretched perps our heroes keep hauling in. The sitcom is standard cop-show fare in that regard, except more so; while a drama can allow our cop heroes the shading to become anti-heroes, the sitcom can’t really go that dark.”

Alongside the police sitcom is another niche for friendly cops to make an appearance which is perhaps more troubling: in children’s media. A slew of op-eds by parents in 2017 in publications like the Guardian and Baptist News called into question some of the implications of television shows like Paw Patrol. The cartoon, featuring dogs in the roles of emergency services, shows its police pup Chase using a “spy drone” for surveillance and coming to the aid of helpless citizens who continually put themselves in danger. Many parents were concerned about the lack of nuance in how the show presented authorities. In a response to these concerns Elissa Strauss wrote for CNN’s website, she cited author Tovah Klein, explaining, “Despite their reputation of innocence, children are bubbling cauldrons of conflicting feelings and impulses. This is especially the case during toddler and preschool years, when they become aware of their capacity to do bad things and struggle with understanding those urges. […] Good and bad are clearly articulated states in those shows, and should one misbehave, the repercussions are clear and predictable.” Strauss seems to believe this is sufficient to let parents breathe a sigh of relief. But if the response to children’s struggle with right and wrong that Paw Patrol gives is to seek the approval of authorities, what is there to be relieved about?

The amiable, endearing police of Paw Patrol and Brooklyn Nine-Nine who are eager to help and the tough, violent cops of Chicago PD and COPS who are a necessary force against the horrors of crime represent a particular understanding of law enforcement that is transmitted to children and adults alike. When the primary experience of most people with police is in entertainment, the images stick, and its effects make themselves known. In public discourse, people can be tricked into defending the actions of real police officers based on their time spent with the stories of fictional cops. Despite claims of a national crime wave and a “war on police,” the Brennan Center reports, as of 2017, declining crime rates and assaults on law enforcement, while Mapping Police Violence reported a general increase in the number of people killed by police from 2013 to 2016. While it may just be the tip of the iceberg of a culture of authoritarianism, cop shows on TV are at least partially responsible.

[ahumanexperiencemoment]

“I was a Civil War Reenactor”

Around the time I was 16 years old, I was at the annual Mustang car show they use to put on at the local mall. My dad had a 69 Mustang Mach One that he entered every year and since he was a member of the local mustang club, we (mostly he) were always there working or trying to do something to help out like inspect cars for judging or pick up trash. He had a beautiful car; the color was gulf stream aqua blue and boy could it go fast. I think my dad had several tickets to prove it. In fact, I liked his car and our times together doing those shows so much, that when I was overseas making cha-ching, I bought myself a ‘69 Mustang, so we could continue to share the experience. However, less than a year after I got back from my time in the dirt, he sold his and mine… well, it now sits in the garage. I must confess, I am not a car guy like my dad was. It’s a beautiful garage ornament though.

Anyway, when I was 16, I overheard someone at the car show talking about Civil War reenacting. I loved history growing up and I still do but this was at the time that the internet wasn’t what it is today and getting information at the touch of a button just wasn’t there. You actually had to sort of be in the know to know of anything. I went right over to learn what I could about reenacting. The guy, in turn, got me in touch with another fellow that was closer to my age… well, he was in college but a lot closer to my age than most reenactors. He told me how to get involved and what it took to become a reenactor. He also told me that there was an event in Selma, Alabama coming up.

Now I had an over-protective mother… and to be honest, I am so thankful she was. When I was a kid, I wasn’t allowed to go to people’s houses until she met their parents or do a lot of things. Up until a couple of years before this, she was pretty much a single parent as my parents were divorced and my dad was in the Navy other places. She lessened the iron grip as I got older but actually allowing me to go with folks that she didn’t know to an event in another state? I thought it would never happen. But this guy took the time to stop and meet my mom in person to explain the group he was with and what they did, etc. Lo and behold, my mom consented and let me go.

I officially joined the 2nd Florida Company A, The Pensacola Rifles. For new members, uniforms and accouterments (gear) were borrowed from other members of the group until one was able to get their own gear. I was no different; I borrowed and looked like I wore hand-me- downs. Everything looked slightly too big or small, but I was proud. I loved it. So, for reenacting groups, they usually represent two units, one from the north and one from the south, depending on how many people show up to an event and what side needs help to fill. 2nd Florida’s counterpart was the 75th New York. My memory is a little fuzzy, but I think that is what it was. We were good ol’ southern boys and I could probably count on one hand how many times we wore the blue.

I remember the first event like it was yesterday. We drove all the way up to Selma from Pensacola and when we got there, we walked across the battlefield to where everyone was camped. Civil War reenacting is or at least was, very family-oriented for the most part. There were some groups that took it way too seriously and other groups that didn’t take it seriously enough but the group I ended up with had a great group of people that weren’t too far in either direction. They were there to have fun, fellowship and have a good time. I met the Captain of our group. He was an older gentleman, but I was 16; everyone was older. He was sitting at a makeshift table pouring black powder into paper cartridges to be used later. He also had an Army or Navy Colt six shooter that he was messing with that I was fascinated by.

I then met a family who had their kids with them. The wife was super sweet and friendly and the kids…. Well they were kids and me being an older kid, I didn’t pay them any attention. Families usually brought family-sized tents made out of canvas. The thing about reenacting, it was about trying to be as period as possible so no new tents for us. Jay, the guy that met my mom and let me ride with him had his own “A” frame tent and we shared that. I met another guy there who was in his younger 20s, maybe the same age as Jay, I am not sure, but I think he was in the Navy at some point. He was a nice guy, but he was different. He always had a pleasant, slack smile and he was always talking about creating a Naval Civil War Reenacting group. He never did though, sadly. I found out years later, after I had gone across the world, that he died of a drug overdose or something like that. At any rate, it was unexpected news when I heard about it.

That first night we set our camp up, cooked dinner on the campfire and sang long into the night. It was exciting; it really felt like you stepped back in time surrounded by people in period dress and playing period music. You could almost imagine how it might have really been in the 1860s, though there probably wasn’t as much enjoyment back then.

By the time it was time to go to sleep that night, it was super late. It did not take long to pass out… however, again, before the advent of technology and all its glory, we didn’t have weather apps that told us about storms on the horizon. We woke up a couple hours later from a deep stupor to the sound of heavy rain on the tent and wind billowing the walls of the tent in and out rapidly. It was a strong and surprise thunderstorm that came from nowhere. The kind of lightning that when it struck, it blinded everything. We grabbed onto the wooden poles that held the tent up to add stability to the shaking tent. The tent shook so hard that the front pole actually snapped in two! Then before long, while dealing with that, a small stream started to pool around our feet coming from one side of the tent and flow out the other side. It wasn’t long before we were ankle deep and trying to keep things from floating out the front of the tent. It was complete pandemonium.

We knew we had to get out of there. We quickly secured what we could and ran for the vehicle, which required running about a quarter of a mile to the parking area in the dark with lightning flashing. There are times in life where you question your choices and wonder, “How the heck did I end up here?” This was one of those times. After running and being blinded every few minutes, praying to God that we wouldn’t be struck as we ran, we made it to the safety of the vehicle. We were wet, miserable and tired. We were also hungry after all that, so we drove over to the local Denny’s to eat. We must have looked like a sight. Here we were wearing 1860 attire, wet, miserable-looking, slowly moseying to our table to eat at 2 or 3 in the morning. It’s funny now…. Well, it was funny then too. The absurdity of it, along with the relief of not getting hurt.

The next day, we found out that they suspected that there might have been a small tornado that tore through the camp. Apparently, it had hit sutler row ( the Civil War related tent shops that were all congregated together) and while it destroyed some tents, nobody was hurt.

The next morning, after sleeping in the car the remainder of the night, we returned to camp and quickly moved our tent to higher ground. Thankfully, Jay had another upright tent pole that took the place of the broken one and we were back on track.

So, every Civil War Reenactment that I have ever been a part of usually consisted of two battles, one on Saturday and one on Sunday with a military ball usually Saturday nights. In the time leading up to the first battle, we conducted close order drill and rifle maneuvers. It was so cool. Not really, but to a 16 year old boy, it was. The uniforms were made of wool and let me tell you something, I gained such a new, profound understanding and appreciation for those that fought in the Civil War. That uniform was itchy, scratchy and if you had a sunburn on your neck… well it just made it worse. But surprisingly, once you sweat into the uniform, it would actually cool you off when the wind blew.

On Saturday afternoon, the time of the battle finally came, and I fell in next to Jay. In reenacting, they say that your first battle is when you see the elephant! I wasn’t sure what that meant but, sure, ok. Also, for new folks, they would take black powder and rub it on newbie faces so everyone knew that you were a neophyte. I wasn’t sure if this was the case. They may have been using my inexperience against me for a good laugh, but I did begin to see others with black powder on their face, so maybe they weren’t.

The cannons started to roar, and musket gun fire started popping off in the distance. It had begun. We marched up an embankment and crested a hill and over to the left, they had a specially built farmhouse on the battlefield between us and confederates that they lit afire. They even had special charges set in the ground where dirt would explode to simulate a cannonball landing. I wasn’t expecting all this. I was just mesmerized by everything. Boom! Shot! Fire Crackle! Dirt Flying! Oh, I have to keep moving with everyone! And I did.

We advanced and retreated several times and then finally, we set up for the final charge. When they yelled “Charge!” we were just to start running and charge the confederates who were behind field fortifications. In Civil War Reenacting, there is no set time to “die.” When you have had enough, you just fall down spectacularly and lay there until the battle is over. Now, there are times when a cannon goes off nearby and you feel silly if you stay up, when you know it would have gotten you had it been real, so you fall then too.

So, here I was in my first battle surrounded by people I didn’t really know and on the front end of the charge. I remember thinking, “Ok. I will just stay by my buddy Jay…oh there he goes…. Where did he go! I am by myself! Oh no!” I am running across the field and me being younger, I could run a little faster. I quickly found myself by myself and not too far from the entrenched. I got so close I could see their eyes… yup, and then the thought hit me. Dude, It’s time. And I died spectacularly. I don’t know if it was spectacular, I just kind of rolled forward and laid still.

Shortly after that, the battle came to an end and it was time to get ready for the military ball. And if you thought the reenactment battlefield was an experience for a young man, the military ball was equally as important an experience, but completely opposite. Men and women would dress up with all the pomp they could with 1860 uniforms and clothing. True southern belles showed up in their hoop dresses, including young women around my age. The whole thing was amazing. People in period dress at a restored plantation house, listening to period music, dancing the Virginia reel. I loved learning to dance and I danced with anyone and everyone I could. I even met a couple of cute girls and had good conversation. Sadly, I never saw them again after that night at other events I attended. That’s another thing about reenacting, it becomes sort of a small town of friends, where they meet at different events and enjoy each other’s time and in time, start to reminisce about earlier experiences.

In retrospect, I am so grateful that I was able to participate in these events. They just instilled the love of history and learning even more in my life. I met interesting people and listened to interesting stories. A couple of years later, I joined the military and never did another event, but I have such great memories.

[dulliverstravels-blog]

A concept

Some people think when you die you go to heaven. Well I suppose it would be hell in my case, but that didn’t happen so I guess they were wrong. Turns out, the guys who completely guessed what happens after you die were not fully accurate. Surprised? As a hardened atheist and spiritual buzzkill, I was.

When I died I was only 15. Did I kill myself? No, but if I had known my life was going to be that short I would've. Not because I hate myself or anything, but it would've been way more interesting than a car crash. I wish I could've gone out on my terms, but death isn't always like that. Anyway, the important part of this story isn't what my life would've been like if I hadn't died. In fact, it's not my life at all.

I'll start from the moment it all transpired. I'll spare you the details, but it was a cement truck and I was on a bike. I was in some pretty terrible pain before I went into shock, and at that point anyone could see I wasn't going to be saved. I died before the ambulance even got there. As for what happened next, I watched my parents arrive to the scene and cry for a little bit, soon I was cremated and my funeral was two weeks later. And then I watched my family and friends continue to mourn my death for years. By my 20th birthday, pretty much everyone had forgotten about me. By my 80th, everyone who had been close to me was dead. I watched and watched until every record of my life was deleted and the last person who knew I existed had passed away without telling anyone else my name. 171 years after my birth, I was finally forgotten by humanity. That's when the good part of the afterlife started.

They won't tell you this at church but when you die you have to stay on earth until you have no earthly attachments (except for people who committed suicide, they go somewhere else first, no ones really sure where) to meet god. Yeah that's right, god is real. But he's not old and he's not even a guy, it's just a block of cheese. God created cheese in its image, not men. I guess that got lost in translation when the scriptures were being created or something. Anyway, until I was ready to meet god I was forced to hang around wherever I was remembered by someone. My great great great great grandnephew was the last person I saw before my chains came loose. I was pretty lucky; Because I was only 15 when I died, I didn't meet many people or accomplish anything. This considerably reduced my time shackled to the earth. Most people have to wait more than twice as long as I did. Certain unlucky pharaohs ended up wandering the earth for millennia. Poor guys.

Earth isn't all bad I guess, for the first couple decades I had some freedom. Once I got into my later years, I had to follow around certain distant family members while they went about their lives, unable to change anything. Meeting god was the first interesting thing that happened to me anytime after I turned 150. Another thing everyone lied about: every living organism meets god, not just the ones who paid for heaven premium. God is always happy to see a human in the afterlife because most likely he's been in trillions of simultaneous meetings with amoeba all day. God doesn't talk though, cheese doesn't have a mouth of course. When god wants you to know something, you just know it. As soon as I arrived in the universe where the meetings are conducted, I knew that god was cheese and that I had a choice to make.

Either I could live in a universe where I was god but I couldn't leave that universe, or I could explore every universe with only the power to watch and experience the worlds as their respective gods intended.

At first the answer seemed obvious. If I was god in my own universe, I could just recreate the conditions of my home universe and all of the other universes too, I'd be god after all. Then a realization struck me. If I was god in my own universe, I would still be trapped within the confines of my brain. Making a universe from scratch would probably be fun at first, but there would never be anything in that universe I didn't already know about. Then again, if I created a new person in my own universe, wouldn't they have different ideas than I? But alas, as god I would be all knowing and therefore none of my creations would do things that I hadn't predicted already. Would I have the power to forget what I knew about my universe? The questions I posed to myself haunted me, but god refused to answer them. I had made my choice.

I did have all of eternity to choose, but I figured why not get started on eternity while I'm still young, and informed god that I would be a traveler between existing universes. I later found out that it was mostly the amoebas who chose the other option, and their universes didn't end up very interesting. As it turned out, the all knowing part isn't really true; if you're god, the universe you create is just a manifestation of your own mind. Amoebas minds don't manifest into much, but humans made some interesting places. Also there's something to be said for the worlds created by koalas. They're so beautiful and relaxing, honestly koalas must have fantastic lives.

After I made my choice, I arrived in some kind of lobby. Basically there are only a few important things to know about the way wanderers find universes to wander in. First, you don't get to know who know who made whatever universe you're in unless they tell you, but for most of them it's pretty obvious what kind of creature made them. Second, you don't have to choose a universe at random. The most visited universes each week are always available to explore, and some of gods favorites stay up all the time. For example, every religion has at least one universe made by some guy who was really salty about how the afterlife turned out and decided to make a universe where it really did work like their parents said it would. And some of them are very very well made, so god basically puts them up on the fridge for everyone to see.

Unfortunately for me, no celebrities or historical had made any universes by the time I got to the afterlife, because they were still remembered by people on earth. But still, the universes that existed were rich and interesting. I visited a world where the only thing that existed was books, all written by various authors who had visited that universe with an eternity to spare and wrote down their entire life experience down to every detail. I stayed there for years and read through the lives of thousands of people I had never heard of. Well, all except one that was written by my niece's middle school vice principle. I would never have guessed he was a crack dealer. There were universes for movies too. College lectures, fan fiction, food from every culture and time period, worlds where the earth really was flat, worlds where pianos had three times as many keys and everyone communicated by composing symphonies, worlds where everyone reenacted battles from the civil war but with laser guns instead of bayonets. And of course, when the most ancient beings got tired of existence, they could go to the universe where they clear your memory and put you into whatever new universe god is creating at the moment.

Sounds pretty crazy right? It's not like this is any crazier than what people on earth still claim to be certain about.

[transcriptroopers]

Extraordinary Female Soldiers

Hello recruits! It's International Women's Day, so I thought I'd introduce you all to a few outstanding soldiers in army history.  While I once explained this in a previous post, here’s a quick reminder: the military refers to its soldiers with “male” and “female” exclusively and when necessary. We’re discouraged from using either “men” or “women” to refer to each other. While in a civilian setting this would be seen as rude, especially in the case of “female,” in this case it’s actually more disrespectful to refer to female soldiers as “women.” Not only is it othering in a military setting, but to amplify a soldier’s womanhood is to separate her from her fellow soldiers, and often not in a positive way. Consider that we prefer to say “police officer” now instead of “policeman” and “policewoman.” As I’ve heard my female comrades say more than once: “I’m not a woman; I’m a soldier.”  While I’d never assume that all females who’ve enlisted feel this way, it’s been my experience overwhelmingly that female soldiers not only prefer this, but sternly enforce it. Given this, I will most frequently be using the word “female” to refer to the soldiers we’re talking about today. I hope everyone understands that by using this terminology I’m actually conferring respect rather than the opposite. I hope everyone understands that I’ll be focusing on the U.S. Army, since that’s my lane and I’d like to stick in it.

Deborah Sampson

“I am indeed willing to acknowledge what I have done, an error and presumption. I will call it an error and presumption because I swerved from the accustomed flowery path of female delicacy, to walk upon the heroic precipice of feminine perdition!”

We’ve all heard of the tale of Hua Mulan, but have you heard of America’s own Deborah Sampson? She’s widely considered to be the first enlisted female soldier in the U.S., and she served honorably in during the American Revolution as light infantry.  The oldest of seven children, Deborah grew up both in poverty and without her father until she was eventually hired out as a servant to a very conservative family. They ignited the flame of patriotism in her, and when she left the family at 18 it took only two years before she chose to join the army.  Of course, this was 1781, (or 1782; her biography lists conflicting records) and women weren’t allowed to enlist. So Deborah sewed her own waistcoat and britches and enlisted as Robert Shirtliffe (or Shurtliffe or Shurtleff; again, it’s conflicting) in a light infantry unit in Massachusetts.  For two years and through two wounds, one of which she removed the bullet herself, Deborah Sampson served in this unit honorably. In her biography, the Female Review, or the Memoirs of an American Young Lady, her biographer details the horrors of war she faced.  “She says she underwent more with fatigue and heat of the day, than by fear of being killed; although her left-hand man was shot dead at the second fire, and her ears and eyes were continually tormented with the expiring agonies and horrid scenes of many others struggling in their blood. She recollects but three on her side who were killed, John Bebby, James Battles and Noble Stern. She escaped with two shots through her coat, and one through her cap…She now says no pen can describe her feelings experienced in the commencement of an engagement, the sole object of which is to open the sluices of human blood. The unfeigned tears of humanity has more than once started into her eyes in the rehearsal of such as scene as I have just described.”

I dunno about you, but that last sentence especially gets to me.  Deborah came down with a terrible fever in 1783 and her secret was discovered while in the hospital. She was allowed to recover before being revealed, and she was spared from punishment, instead receiving an honorable discharge and being returned home with as little inconvenience as possible.  Nonetheless, it was years before Deborah would receive a pension for her service. She spent the last years of her life publicly speaking about her service, dressing in her old waistcoat to reenact her moments of glory on the battlefield.

Sources: History of Massachusetts.org, Encyclopedia Britannica, National Women’s History Museum

Harriet Tubman

Yes, THAT Harriet Tubman. “God’s time is always near. He set the North Star in the heavens; He gave me the strength in my limbs; He meant I should be free.”  Everyone knows Harriet Tubman, one of the mightiest heroines in American History, but few people know that Harriet actually served in the army during the Civil War, and at the urging of the federal government no less.  Born a slave in 1822 and escaped to freedom in 1849, Harriet spent eleven years returning to slave states and personally shepherding dozens of slaves to freedom in the north. She was not only brave but clever, devising numerous tricks and deceptions that fooled slave catchers again and again. Devoutly religious, she believed wholly in God’s deliverance, and she even earned the nickname “Moses” for her part in guiding the exodus of slaves.  During the Civil War, Harriet Tubman continued to dazzle with her many talents. A nurse, a scout, a spy, and a foot soldier, Harriet served dutifully in South Carolina for eight years. Her patients were very often primarily black and poor white soldiers, and she treated then with medicinal herbs and roots when medicine was scarce. She was efficient and kind, and some say protected by God himself, for she never caught any of the many, many diseases she treated while enlisted.

Harriet Tubman is credited with being not only the first black female soldier, but the first female soldier period to lead a military expedition. This was not a small expedition, either; hundreds of soldiers were involved in what’s now known as the Combahee River Raid. Its purpose was to harass plantation owners while rescuing their slaves, and as the boats sailed up the Combahee River, its riders shifted: the soldiers jumped onto the shore to assault the Confederates while slaves climbed aboard to safety. Faced with too many slaves to rescue and dissension growing amidst the crowd, Harriet Tubman sang to the escaping slaves to calm and encourage them, and those slaves would recall how they rejoiced and praised her and God. Approximately 750 slaves were rescued in this mission and the Confederacy was dealt a massive blow while the Union soldiers suffered no casualties.  Despite her honorable services, Harriet Tubman was denied a pension. Brigadier General Rufus Saxton’s report of the raid included the following statement: “This is the only military command in American history wherein a woman, black or white, led the raid, and under whose inspiration it was originated and conducted.” Sources: NY Times, Liberty Letters, Harriet Tubman.com

Oveta Culp Hobby

“Women who stepped up were measured as citizens of the nation, not as women…this was a people’s war and everyone was in it.”

Colonel Oveta Culp Hobby never intended to become so involved in the army. As a young woman, her trade was publishing: newspapers, editing, editorials. She and her husband ran newspapers and radio stations, and when her husband became Governor she dabbled in politics, eventually writing “Mr. Chairman,” then and now a textbook on legislature and parliamentary law. She served on committees, planned and organized, and especially advised others on how women could contribute to society.

In 1941, in the wake of the drafts, she was persuaded by the federal government to write up a plan clearly lining out how women could participate in the war, something hitherto unpublished. She did this by studying the participation of women in Britain and France and personally investigating the jobs at which women could assist the war effort without having to undragono specialized training, which at the time was often refused even to women who desired it. Though she at first denied the limelight, as she so often had in her life, she eventually became the director of the Women’s Army Auxilary Corps. A corps entirely of females, she and her unit were shunned by sexist military officials who  refused to allow mingling between the WAAC and the regular army and even refused to issue pay. Because the women were not technically enlisted, (although Oveta later took the Oath of Office herself in 1943 to become a colonel) they reasoned that they shouldn’t have to treat the women the same because the women of the WAAC were still civilians. They partly reasoned this because so few jobs in the army were actually open to female soldiers, a point which Oveta Culp Hobby sought to remedy. By the time she was done, over 200 jobs in the U.S. army became accessible to female soldiers, over four times the “generous” proposal outlined by Congress. Her plans, policies, and training methods would later be nationally acknowledged and implemented. Even after leaving service, she continued to argue for fully equality in the army, not limited to only females but race as well. In 1945, she became the first woman to be awarded the Distinguished Service Cross, and a very distinguished legacy she leaves behind indeed.  Source: Texas State Historical Association, Rice Fondren Library

Lori Ann Piestewa

Our final extraordinary female soldier is Lori Ann Piestewa, a Hopi native from 11th ADA Brigade (my old brigade, as it happens) who enlisted in the U.S. Army in 2001 after the 9/11 terrorist attacks.

"I’m not trying to be a hero. I just want to get through this crap and go home." Lori, born in 1979, was the youngest of four. She played softball and was active in her high school’s ROTC program, showing in both a strong aptitude for challenging herself. She came from a family of soldiers who raised her to have confidence in herself and her abilities, and it came as no surprise to her family when she enlisted in the army, eventually settling with the 507th Maintenance Company. Numerous accounts of her peers recount Lori as being a dependable and enthusiastic comrade for the two years she was enlisted. Lori’s MOS was 92A, Automated Logistical Specialist, a non-combat MOS. She kept records on equipment and accounted for much of her unit’s inventory. In 2003, Lori Ann Piestewa was deployed to Iraq during Operation Iraqi Freedom. A mere PFC at the time and a mere three days into the U.S. invasion of Iraq, she and her company’s convoy were traveling through the harsh desert. They intended to pass by Nasiriyah, an enormous Iraqi city under enemy control during the early stages of the Iraq war. Unfortunately, a navigational error brought them to Nasiriyah’s front doorstep, and a firefight ensued, one of the first of the Iraq war.  All but three of their vehicles were destroyed and eleven soldiers were killed in combat, with six being captured. Lori was taken prisoner along with other famous POWs Jessica Lynch and Shoshana Johnson, but unfortunately, Lori had been wounded in the head during the attack, and there was no suitable medical equipment or personnel available to treat her.  Lori Ann Piestewa was posthumously promoted to specialist following her death, and she also received the Purple Heart and the Prisoner of War Medal. Jessica Lynch has maintained ever since the ambush that Lori performed admirably during the attack that took almost a third of the soldiers present and that she was a heroine for her efforts, and her death has resonated with people of all races across the country. The Hopi and Navajo people prayed for her despite their long-time feud, and the Arizona Sports council has immortalized her in their annual Lori Piestewa National American Games. After her death, efforts across the country began to rename the various national landmarks named with the offensive “squaw” term, one of which includes Piestewa Peak, a location where many now come to hike, bike, and pay their respects to Lori.

Lori was not only the first Native American female killed in combat, but the first female to be killed in the Iraq War, and this fact, along with her dedication, has cemented her place in history as an extraordinary female soldier. 

Sources: Rolling Stone, Indian Country Media Network, Piestewa Native Web.org

I hope you enjoyed this post accounting the stupendous bravery of American women in the military! There’s so many more amazing women in history and I couldn’t possibly account all of the lives and achievements of female soldiers, but I hope that on this International Women’s Day you’ll join me in saluting the memory of these four pioneers of freedom. 

-Kingsley

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[patriotnewsdaily]

New Post has been published on PatriotNewsDaily.com

New Post has been published on http://patriotnewsdaily.com/house-republican-impeachment-could-push-this-country-to-a-civil-war/

House Republican: Impeachment Could “Push This Country to a Civil War”

Rep. Louie Gohmert (R-TX) stood on the floor of the House of Representatives on Thursday, warning Democrats that they were making what could be a catastrophic mistake in pushing forward with their impeachment inquiry.

Just after the House voted (along party lines) to formalize the inquiry, Gohmert took to the microphone and said that the Democrats had failed to consider the consequences of removing a duly-elected president who has not done anything remotely worthy of impeachment.

Democrats, he said, were “about to push this country to a civil war if they were to get their wishes.”

“And if there’s one thing I don’t want to see in my lifetime, that I don’t want to ever have participation in, it’s a civil war,” Gohmert said. “Some historian, I don’t remember who, said ‘guns are only involved in the last phase of a civil war.’”

Gohmert is hardly the only one warning that armed conflict could be in the country’s future. In September, President Trump himself retweeted a pastor who said that removing him from office would “cause a Civil War like fracture” in the United States. That remark was picked up on by groups like the Oath Keepers, who quickly tweeted: “This is the truth. This is where we are. We ARE on the verge of a HOT civil war. Like in 1859.”

In a Reuters article from last week, the news outlet spoke to several members of the Sons of Confederate Veterans, none of whom are any slouches when it comes to Civil War history and the lessons derived from our country’s bloodiest battles:

Sporting a Confederate flag shirt near a field clouded by cannon smoke, where blue- and gray-clad soldiers reenacted a Civil War battle from 155 years ago, Larry Caldwell Piercy, Jr. said he sees a new war looming in the United States – and a role for himself in any fighting.

“It would be all guerrilla warfare, not this open field-style kind of thing,” he said, gesturing at the reenactment of the 1864 Battle of Cedar Creek in Middletown, Virginia, earlier this month. “I would probably be an officer in that effort. You look into rural areas, and we’re not seen, but there’s a lot of us that’ll come out of these hills if it keeps getting worse. Probably every Sons of Confederate Veterans member out there.”   

The idea of our ultra-industrialized, technological machine of a nation going through a second civil war is nearly unimaginable, but one can’t ignore the divisions growing between conservative and liberal America. And while Democrats have little chance of actually throwing Trump out of office, their attempts to do so inflame those divisions and open the door to something tragic. How wide is that opening? We don’t know.

But it’s cracked.

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[the-firebird69]

Revolutionary War Battles · George Washington's Mount Vernon

The song is a little upsetting but I like it and it means I'm happy this little disturbed because this is very strange to him and I grew up there too but mostly I was detached sort of but really this is odd as heck and he is an American okay you're running him over Kohl's that you don't know about and it's going to be extremely painful because we're Americans as well and I get the effect

Hera

These battles are going to happen there's tons of them there's certain general and you'll notice what he looks like is kicking their ass and Brian is assuming the role of George Washington and Trump is assuming the role of the Hessian group leader they're smaller and it's proportional and very odd it's supposed to make us think we're losing and things because it's going along a timeline but no. Several battles have occurred and people are freaking out and they're listed here and there are more and it is the part where they are forced out and they have no ships in space and that's why they get forced out more and more and they have a comeback after the signing of a declaration of independence and that's an interesting thing what happens there but they do face the Hessians coming up real soon and they face the French and Indians later but the Hessian battle and war is important Donald Trump really brings a lot of people into New York to try and get his appeal to work and it's the state he appeals to so he feels he has to take over the state and the max are manipulating it and it's something that done before and it seem to work so they have it done again. The Hessians get beat and they also win battles but it's really to change the outcome of the trial and to try and gain the presidency back and he actually takes over the White House which did not really happen in the revolutionary war but it sort of did they took over the area and he just did not occupy the Capitol building no he went in it's a reenactment it's just not the White House and no it was kind of burned down and it gets beat up this time but not burnt down there's a whole lot of things happening and yeah it was a different house of rulership it was not Dave or Mac Daddy it was actually his and that's coming up that there is an analogy that wants to burn someone else's down and Mac Daddy has his house there and there are a lot of people that don't know that at all it's an interior portion what is called the Palace or it's really a parliament in Britain there's a bunch of it there in the summer around the countryside and some of it has his family members in it and they're kept very cool it's about 38° and it's right no it should be cooler and it really is they're deep okay people don't know that it's such an elevator and they're about 22°. So this is going to happen and what the stage we're at now is that they're fighting tooth and nail we are coming up to the Hessian battles and those will be fierce in large eventually the Hessians get cut out of the picture but not until the end of the war I was just coming up a lot quicker than people think that's the analogy and then it moves into more modern wars including the civil war there's a certain aspect to this that you are missing everybody it's called hatred they're doing all these reenactments and they're trying to get rid of other races and their despicable people are aware of it now and they're getting rid of them that's how it's going.

Thor Freya

They fight over New York they fight over New England for real now and they're pushing each other around and you can see the general coming and rolling over them and Washington is losing for the most part and inciting and it's not doing it on purpose then he gets they get pushed out and that is after a mini battles after Trenton they signed the declaration and Trump was doing it back then he was an a****** that's what Arnie ruined his place for and supposedly Trump was getting back in at him he said that he escaped and you know the max are after him and thank you very much he is mad and he was upset and didn't say anything and our sunset make sure the loss isn't permanent and he sort of got that sit there people who don't like you I'm fighting them but you're fighting everybody so then things went down that way they will push them back out of those areas that's a pseudo empire and the Hessians are forced out and back in the day it wasn't the British or the pseudo empire they were forced out by the rebels and they stayed out even though the pseudo empire occupied and this is happening now they'll get pushed out and they will be pushed to the South and then upper Midwest mostly up there and they'll battle and it's already started and Trump is helping that happen and Trenton is where Trump is defeated and the Hessians are forced out of New York and it's where he starts falling and he retreats to the upper Midwest and he becomes the French. It's happening very fast our son and daughter wonder about the car and they think it doesn't make any sense because of the timing but really he goes to the upper Midwest or Canada and he's still playing with Hessian and the timing does kind of work they think it's in about a month and he comes down with it no but there is a way that they do it but the reasoning is where Hessians we got pushed out of New York and this guy is the one who did it and and stuff like that and he took the vehicle that's not really true but that's what he does and we know he's doing it later on this is a very weird thing to do that to someone and we don't like it he does have other money by then. That too is what's going on they get pushed out there and they want him to go up there and they noticed that he probably won't go up there he doesn't have transportation and wants to bring his junk and a car would help so they never offered to have one there and doesn't do anything cuz he's still here and they really want him to do something else I guess no they use the car for something they try to take over New York again and at the time he needs it they try and take over New York again if that's the car issues with the Hessians did come back and that's the $30,000 and they got really badly beat and it changes the war and they become the Indians and the French and the phones too clones and some actual French and some minority French and it is going on now this whole maneuver and New England and the East is in turmoil as they fight and they get pushed out because they don't have the ships and it is an amazing thing that is happening again

Thor Freya

Olympus

Zues

We know you know your stuff but some people want to know more like me. I do hear what he's saying the timeline is here the battles are picky and he can look at it and we can try and pick through who he's going to find the general for me so I'll get that okay then

Hera

We're here your side but he says not to worry he's used to it and she's eviction and powerful and keep her off me Chris says he's doing the job and he's on it it'll only empower her though but he'll have to somehow survive and she says to shut up

Zig Zag

Olympus