#just forming breaking and reforming the same empire for thousands of years

[gobbogoo]

I'm no historian so stop me if I'm wrong, but:

Medieval/Renaissance Europe was basically a bunch of step siblings who all shared one deceased mother (Rome) and different fathers (saxons, goths, gauls, etc) being forced to live in the same house. And since they couldn't murder one another (much) without pissing off their uncle/landlord, Mr. Vatican, they instead formed the most complicated web of politics ever conceived and started taking out their anger on random strangers (via holy crusades) or paternal cousins (like Scotland).

[autisticdindjarin]

Knights of Mandalore

Chapter One: The Past

Chapter Two | Masterlist

(AO3)

Rating: T Ships: Din Djarin/Female Jedi Knight (Slow Burn) Warnings: None

Summary: The Hero of Tython was never found after her capture at the hands of the Eternal Empire. Millennia passed before she was found by a youngling in need of training and a Mandalorian.

A silence settled across the rocky planes of the inner mind of Tacee de’Val. Time passed as if she were submerged beneath the surface of it. Grasping. Drowning. Ripples moved out in waves of awareness, with the helplessness of not being able to act.

At first, it had been watching the Republic and the Empire fall under the control of the Zakuulan prince. As Prince Arcann had disarmed her and had frozen her in carbonite after his coup, his plans had already been taking root.

Secondly, there had been a war, a bloody war, after an alliance had been formed under the rule of the Empire’s Wrath- a war hero covered in blood but no regrets. 

Tacee had company every so often as Arcann and his sister Vaylin would come, glancing at her carbonite shell with a gleam in their eyes. She could sense the fear in both of them as they wondered whether their father was truly gone for good, forever encased in the carbonite prison Tacee shared with him.

He wasn’t.

The downfall of the Zakuulan monarchy and the Eternal Empire came with the death of too many, and yet freedom for the galaxy. Arcann and Vaylin had died. As for the alliance, it was a high price. That price fed on Tacee’s guilt. If she’d been there, would she have made a difference? If they had found her, could she have saved them?

Instead, she was a trapped bystander.

She remained locked in Arcann’s trophy room, forgotten after Zakuul’s downfall, gathering dust and memories and pain and becoming more and more aware of a sinister presence that lingered within her. The citizens of Zakuul moved on from the Spire- Zakuul City- after the damage caused in the war by their own fleet, and settled elsewhere on the planet. And she was alone. Except for the ghost inside her head.

While her tomb was outwardly quiet, she could not silence the voice in her mind. It was the only company she had other than the other carbonite slabs surrounding her, breaking down over the years.

The voice became stronger as time passed in its stream, first whispers, then mutters, speaking ... screams. 

She wanted to claw at her skull. She wanted him out. She wanted to be free. But Vitiate … Valkorian … was persistent in her torture.

She watched her friends die, Some horribly, some from old age, but it hurt all the same. Years, decades, centuries, millenia floating in this warped nightmare. And everytime something terrible happened, Valkorian made sure she saw it.

There was so much blood, so much destruction, so much hopelessness.

A near thousand years of infighting between Sith factions. Civil war on too many planets. The Republic committing its own atrocities, nearly exterminating an entire species. The war between a brotherhood and an army and a thought bomb that killed both sides in a devastating blow. Two rules.

But there stood good as well.

When Valkorian’s presence thinned and she reached out to see the galaxy for herself, there was not much she could see, but what she did see gave her some small hope.

Children, families of killed Jedi establishing their own Force traditions, from Ossus to Jedha. A medical revolution that would have had Doc on a month long tangent. The presence of the Jedi growing strong in the Republic once again, reforming from what the Eternal Empire had broken. She could imagine Kira’s smile, and Scourge’s slight disdain.

The flow of time was changing, as if she were being further submerged in its depths, drifting helplessly toward the bottom. It still came in starts and fits, but it was unpredictable. It became harder to reach out, and less and less visions came, even from Valkorian. But she saw.

A young woman sold into slavery. The birth of a chosen one. The creation of a clone army full of troopers that even Rusk would approve of, and the separating of the Republic. A revolt against a pacifist leader, with death watching, and a shadow collecting. A padawan lost.

Then, pain. A louder call through the Force than Tacee had experienced in a millenia during her time in her carbonite tomb.

The deaths of nearly all of her fellow Jedi, calling out in the Force and driving her to near madness with the loss of each as silence fell over the galaxy. The night of a thousand tears. A Republic transitioned into an Empire under the rule of a Sith Lord. The death of a star.

But, with each darkness came a light that it was cast from, though the flame may have been small.

The birth of new hope. The organization of an alliance of rebels. Two droids, one reminiscent of Teeseven, who always seemed to be in the center of it all, pushing on fate in small yet critical ways.

While the screams in the Force became louder, it was harder to find optimism. A familiar planet was obliterated not long after as voices cried out in the Force, terror-filled. Tacee had not witnessed such a loss of life since Ziost, and even in her dreams, she shuddered, and withdrew.

When she came back, not as much time had passed as she’d expected, but a lot had occurred between the broken pieces. A change in the darkness. A fulfilled prophecy. And a New Republic birthed from the ashes.

She wished she could reach out. Valkorian often blocked her efforts. She was trapped, and so was he, but Valkorian was crafty, a patient man, and she sensed he waited for the opportune moment, so he could once again continue in his efforts of engulfing her entire universe. She hated him, a hate and disdain that coiled deep in her chest. But he kept them alive. The carbonite helped, certainly, yet a Force shield surrounded her as well, keeping her in stasis, a passive observer, unable to interact or help. It was a nightmare.

Sometimes it would seem like day after day passed. Then she would spurt forwards, her awareness moved to the next century with such a suddenness it gave her whiplash. There were … a lot of holes. Not just in her observation of the galaxy, but in her own mind. Things were becoming fuzzy. She was losing her grip on who she was, and something dark stirred in her chest, trying to take her place.

But there were times when the darkness would retreat, and she could just simply be. Those times were rare. She treasured them.

But when she startled back to awareness this time, it felt more like chaos than peace.

[swtorpadawan]

Tales from the Eternal Alliance: A Dead World

Author’s Notes: The following takes place during Chapter 7 of Knights of the Eternal Throne. Elements of dialogue are copied word-for-word.

“Still no word on where Vaylin’s disappeared to.” Beniko spoke contemplatively as she regarded the holo-display in the Alliance war room.

“Any chance she decided to give up on galactic conquest and retire to a quiet little colony on the Outer Rim?” Shan offered by way of answer.  

Even after just a few days, Arcann had come to understand that Lana Beniko and Theron Shan – the Alliance Commander’s senior advisors – shared an unusual dynamic. Both were highly intelligent individuals with backgrounds in espionage and impressive track records as field operatives. But in the context of their interactions, Beniko – the Sith formerly in charge of the Sith Empire’s Intelligence agency – took on the role of the often-sobering analytical one while Shan – the rogue Republic SIS agent – offered up his particular witticisms in an effort to break the ice and put others at ease. That both seemed to be excellent at their jobs and fiercely loyal to the Commander could not be denied.

“That is not my sister’s style.” Arcann’s low, gravelly voice rumbled.

The trio of individuals – joined by the astromech droid, Teeseven – had gathered in the war room to discuss their next move, or more accurately to attempt to predict Vaylin’s next move. It had been less than a week since the Commander and his companions had attempted to strike at Vaylin directly on Zakuul. That attempt had failed, but had resulted in Arcann, now reformed after his experience on Voss and months of rehabilitation, joining the same Alliance that had originally formed itself to oppose him when he had sat on the Eternal Throne.

Strange developments, indeed.

Just at that moment, Arcann felt the familiar presence in the Force of the Alliance Commander, Corellan Halcyon. The man whom Arcann had imprisoned in carbonite for five years, who had escaped from Zakuul, and, with the aid of Beniko, Shan and others, had forged an Alliance to challenge the Eternal Empire’s supremacy, and who had finally defeated Arcann, toppling him from the throne, but who later fought to save him on Voss.

This man who was now the current host body for Arcann’s father, Valkorion, the Immortal Emperor.      

“I might know where she’s gone.” The Commander said, by way of greeting. The man was the most affable and caring person that Arcann had ever met. But when a clear goal emerged, he could suddenly become the most driven.

“A planet called Nathema.”

Arcann’s eyes widened in shock and he felt his stomach clench as he turned away from the group. Memories from years ago when he retrieved Vaylin suddenly surged to the surface.

“I never thought to hear the name of that accursed world again.” He said bitterly.

Shan was the first to press the issue.

“You’ve been there?”  

“Once.” Arcann explained sullenly, finding the strength to turn back towards the others, addressing them properly. “It’s where Valkorion locked my sister away when she was a child. It’s in the Chorlian sector.”

“Hang on.” Shan’s eyes had narrowed as he turned to the controls on the display terminal. Soon a holo-map of the named sector was displayed.

“Someone sent an encrypted holocall to Vaylin during her little party. We traced the origin to that sector.”

As Shan narrowed his search, the planet was soon identified in the display. Virtually no data appeared, however. What would be the point of gathering information on a dead rock?  

“The message was important enough for Vaylin to drop everything and go.” The Commander nodded in agreement. “That must be where she’s headed.”

“Nathema is a tainted world. If I go there, I fall back into my old ways.” Arcann turned his back to the others and walked away from the display, not trusting himself to let them see his face. “Everything I have accomplished since being healed on Voss will be undone.”

That seemed to silence the others for a moment.

“What else do we know about this world?” Beniko finally pressed. It should have been no surprise that the pragmatic Sith Lord would be the one to break the silence. “Many planets could be called ‘tainted’ by the dark side…”

“The Force itself is corrupted there.” Arcann clarified. “Centuries ago, the world’s entire surface was wiped out in a massive explosion of Force energy. Only underground facilities – like the one that served as my sister’s prison – remain.”

Beniko seemed to be considering that carefully. Clearly, she had been thinking of the worlds of her old Sith Empire – Dromund Kaas and Korriban. This was something else entirely.

“That… sounds strangely familiar.” Shan finally weighed in.

“Of course it does.”

The Commander’s voice cut through the room. His tone was grim, and frankly darker and more pained than Arcann had previously thought him capable of. All three companions turned as one, finding the former Jedi hunched over the holo-display with his hands gripping the console, glaring at the projected representation of Nathema.  The expression on his face was…. hard. Not angry exactly but driven by a certain scorn and disgust. As if Nathema itself were his enemy. It felt very out of character from a man who seemed to define himself through acts of kindness and personal self-sacrifice.

But Arcann had seen that expression on the Commander’s face before, directed at Arcann himself, back on his flagship during the Battle of Odessen. He would never underestimate Corellan Halcyon again.

The Commander didn’t bother to turn away from the display.

“We’ve seen this before, Theron. Remember?”

At that, the former SIS agent’s eyes widened in shock. Arcann knew that the Commander, Beniko and Shan had been allies well before the Zakuulan invasion of six years ago. They had a history together that he could not relate to. (He felt an unexpected tinge of jealousy at that thought.)

“You …. you’re talking about Ziost, aren’t you?”

Shan’s voice sounded haunted.

Arcann half-remembered hearing the reports concerning Ziost. It had once been a major Sith Empire planet that had been destroyed several months before the invasion, well before even Arcann and Thexan had launched their assaults on Korriban and elsewhere. Now it was merely a dead world. Those reports on Ziost didn’t seem particularly important at the time, but he knew the destruction had been ‘credited’ to….

Ah. The Sith Emperor.

Arcann’s father.

The Commander didn’t bother answering Theron’s question, still glaring into the projection.

“Scourge told me about this world years ago. I just never thought to ask him for its name.” He continued to speak. “More than a thousand years ago, the Emperor tricked an entire world into submitting to a ritual.” He audibly swallowed. “The ritual consumed every living thing on the planet… and made the Emperor immortal.”

Corellan Halcyon finally stood up straight.

“This is where it all began.”

His eyes narrowed.

“This is Valkorion’s homeworld.”

The simple statement fell like a rock, with only silence greeting it. Arcann didn’t know who this ‘Scourge’ was, but he had known for many years about Valkorion’s ‘other life’ in the greater galaxy. He had never given it much thought, being too consumed by his own … issues with his father.

He was starting to realize just how far Valkorion’s reach had extended. And the kind of enemies he had made over the centuries.

Beniko once again was the one to break the silence.

“If Vaylin has gone there, then we must be especially cautious.” There was no fear in her voice; merely pragmatic resolve.

Whatever fugue the Commander had been under was suddenly shrugged off as easily as it had been an old cloak, nodded approvingly to Lana. He then turned towards Arcann with a compassionate look that once again surprised the former Emperor of Zakuul.

“I believe you’re strong enough to do this, but I won’t force you to go.”

Arcann felt a surge of appreciation for the Commander’s faith in him. He could not have imagined anyone else showing him such consideration.  

“Thank you. I will stay and watch over Senya in case she awakes.”

Corellan Halcyon nodded in understanding.

“I’ll go prep the shuttle.” Shan added.

As Arcann departed from the war room, he felt a familiar tinge of guilt. He knew the Commander and his companions would face untold dangers on Nathema. But he had every confidence that he would succeed.

After all, the Commander had shown faith in Arcann; how could the former Emperor not return it?

[dalekofchaos]

The Dark side is not inherently evil

The Jedi taught the dark side was always evil. It was quicker, more seductive. Yoda said once you go down the dark side it will forever dominate your destiny.

But we all know that the Jedi dogma has been proven false by Anakin Skywalker and even Luke admitted they were wrong. Their main error is they think the dark side is evil. It certainly is not. It can be used for evil but it isn't evil.

The light side can also be used for evil. The Jedi used the light side to become arrogant, self serving, distant, and cold.

The entire Clone Wars was based on the Jedi believing that the Star systems in the Republic could not break off. Were the Separatist evil? Or did they simply want their independence? Remember the whole dispute in Naboo started because the Republic starting massive taxes on trade routes. Very similar to what happen when England raised taxes in America. So was America evil for wanted their independence? The majority of Separatists were evil yes, but from a certain point of view, you can argue that the majority of The Separatists just wanted free of The Republic’s corruption, The leaders were corrupt, but the people who wanted freedom were good. The Separatists were good from a certain point of view

The dark side is simply the other side of the coin of human emotion. The light side is about thinking, calm, defense, and knowlege. The dark side is about emotion, love, anger, fear, and passion.

The aspects of the darkside (fear, anger, love, passion, attachment) are not evil. They are basic human emotion. Being angry and fearful is an important part of the human experience. But when these emotions spin out of control then things go bad.

But the aspects of the light side (passive, defense, knowlege) can also lead to disaster. As seen in the PT.

True balance is only achived when one masters both the light and dark.

The Jedi lost balance because their dogmatic teachings did not allow for darkside emotion to be experienced and understood. So when a Jedi did go to the darkside he did not know how to control it.

The Sith were the exact opposite and only knew the dark.

I think both Luke and Snoke(at least in TFA) were slowly realizing that true mastery of the force requires knowledge of the dark and the light. That they are 2 sides of the same coin.

The light and dark are merely tools. Depending on the use and understanding of these tools, we get good and evil. Being fully submerged in the light did not prevent the Jedi Order from the wrong they did. I think balance is the key, and something the ST is alluding to. Snoke believing in balance yet using it for evil. Luke coming to the same conclusion yet using it for good.Though I think the true balance is something like what Qui-Gon-Jinn attained. He was more submerged in the light, yet enough in the dark to use his own mind rather than becoming a blind follower of the Jedi code.

The dark side is only seen as evil because the Jedi deal too much in extremes. Completely ignoring/controlling your emotions or completely given in to them. A health balance of both is better.

There is some truth to Anakin’s “From my point of view the Jedi are evil”  The Jedi were supposed to be guardians of peace, and servants to the entire Galaxy, yet when it came down to choosing a side, they chose to alienate all planets that fell under Confederate control. How many people in the Confederacy died needing their help, but weren't given it because the Jedi allied themselves with the Republic? After you watch the Clone Wars series, you see so many examples of times when the jedi order was becoming corrupt. They had become militarized in a time of war when their original intent was to be peace-keepers and defenders of the weak. Anakin recognizes this and starts to believe that there might be better alternatives to being a jedi. It almost seemed like the jedi were going to fall prey to their own arrogance and hypocrisy. SO many people along the way warned them. So many people said they were straying from their path and rules. It was like that at every turn. It was like they enjoyed the power. Honestly I see why it was so easy to believe the jedi turned on the Republic. They used clones like they were expendable, they played general when they weren't supposed to be offensive, they enjoyed positions of power... Remember when Palpatine said there wasn't really that much of a difference between the Sith and the Jedi? I recalled Mace Windu's line that Palpatine was too dangerous to be left alive, is also what Palpatine said to Anakin when he killed Count Dooku. Remember when the Jedi Council feared Anakin's potential and Yoda saying fear leads to the dark side. When Palpatine accused that the Jedi were trying to betray him as Chancellor it turned out to be true. Ki-Adi-Mundi specifically said "If he does not give up his emergency powers after the destruction of Grievous, then he should be removed from office". And Mace Windu said "The Jedi Council would have to take control of the Senate in order to secure a peaceful transition". Remember when Mace Windu openly displays his mistrust with Anakin. Then putting him on the council but not make him a master, which hasn't happened in the history of the Jedi Council. And then they ordered him to spy on the Chancellor's dealings, which Obi-Wan had to tell Anakin covertly because this assignment "was not in the books". I think that is why in the EU Luke reformed the council and even had a kid of his own. Anakin was right.

Jolee Bindo is a perfect example of how the dark side is not completely evil

"Love doesn't lead to the dark side. Passion can lead to rage and fear, and can be controlled, but passion is not the same thing as love. Controlling your passions while being in love, that's what they should teach you to beware, but love itself will save, not condemn you."

Jolee used the dark side of the force because he realized it wasn't inherently evil and a person could control it without succumbing to doing terrible things.

And speaking of KOTOR. Revan chose to embrace the dark side and create his own Sith Empire to prepare the galaxy for the True Sith. He chose to embrace the dark side to save the galaxy from the Sith. At least until TOR ruined Revan’s character

"Perhaps Revan never fell. The difference between a fall and a sacrifice is sometimes difficult, but I feel that Revan understood that difference, more than anyone knew. The galaxy would have fallen if Revan had not gone to war."

Is the Dark Side evil? Well answer this: Is it evil to hate, or is it good to hate evil? Is it evil to love, or is it only evil to love evil? I put it to you that under the right circumstances they are both virtues, representing the creative and competitive instincts that created civilization and brought about all true beauty in the galaxy. They can be the worst of us, but they are most definitely the best of us.

The Jedi will tell you that both love and hate lead to evil, and that their cold, remote order embodies all that is good. But under Jedi rule - and make no mistake, the Jedi are the iron fist concealed by the "democratic" velvet glove of the Republic - civilization has stagnated, moving no further in more than a thousand years. Perhaps the Jedi shackling of the soul prevents some evil, but how much good has it also prevented? The advancement of art and science both demand passion, they demand sapients explore all states of being open to them. The Jedi have enforced peace, at a price that cannot be borne.

If the Jedi are good, why does slavery persist in the galaxy after a thousand years of their rule? Why can the Hutts rule as petty tyrants over billions of innocents, right under their noses? The Jedi do not seek good, they seek balance. And where is balance? Not in the beauty of life, in the spiralling of helices and the eternity of destruction and renewal. There is only balance in lifelessness, in the desolate wastes, in the grave. It is no accident that the Jedi are ordered to celibacy, the women to remain fallow and the men to leave their seeds unsewed. The Jedi are ever suspicious of the very best in our nature, prejudiced against its unpredictability and lack of "balance".

I will tell you, the Jedi are evil. For a thousand years, they have forced stagnation on the galaxy, by repressing the at times chaotic, but ultimately sacred instincts of all sapients - instincts which have no place in their universe. And of course we have stagnated - without love, without hate, why do anything? Why not sit down calmly and simply die?

The Dark Side is not evil - it only appears that way because those who would use it, who would break the stultifying hold of the Jedi on the Force, are so sought out and persecuted by the supposedly dispassionate Jedi that they must act radically to survive at all. The Jedi are ever-vigilant against any rising force that could threaten their own monopoly, so those who would seek a better way are chained to violence, not by the nature of the Dark Side, but by the Jedi Order's own intolerance.

The Force comes from the life force, and the Dark Side is creative, chaotic, and beautiful, like life itself. The Dark Side is not evil. It is merely power, and power is only evil when wielded by evil hands - just as the so-called Light Side has done great evil in the form of the Jedi stranglehold on the galaxy. The Dark Side gives us abilities to control our fate, to protect our loved ones, to seek out new frontiers of the mind undreamed of in the pedestrian ambitions of the Jedi. They are abilities I can teach you, if you wish...

[smashbuddies]

Do it for Them: Pt. 6

Daniel stood diligently by His Diamond’s side, eyes trained firmly on the warp pad. The entirety of the Alpha Kindergarten waited behind the two of them with baited breath, only the occasional whisper stirring up to be silenced with harsh, muttered scolding. The wind had long died and the air felt so heavy and warm all thanks to the crimson ship looming above. Or rather, it’s passenger.

“What do you think Red will say?” His Diamond whispered to him. “I mean… They can’t be too happy right now.”

“Red Diamond has a history of cowing enemies with words before engaging in battle,” Daniel whispered back. His fingers played with the frills of his skirt. “I believe they’re going to do the same to you. They’ll try to convince you to stand down and continue the colony.”

“As if I’ll let that happen…”

The warp pad lit up, banishing all shadow for a moment before revealing Red Diamond. Tall, proud, hands laced behind their back and face stoney. They glanced down at Snail with just the slightest glimmer of amusement.

“You’ve made Gray quite angry,” they noted. “If you wanted attention, you didn’t have to go so far, Purple. He would very much like his Pearl back. And I don’t want to deal with this… War you’ve declared.”

“I’m not giving Lorna back,” His Diamond said boldly and puffed up their chest. And he knew they’d stick to their word. Lorna was essentially off the radar. No one but them and Daniel could find her. “No gem deserves to be treated like that! We’re all equals, Red!”

“You’re young,” Red sighed out, rubbing their forehead with a disgruntled scowl. “You don’t quite realize the way the hierarchy works. But you will learn, Purple. Once you conquer more planets, Gray and I will-”

“No! I’m not destroying more planets for you!”

Red blinked, then looked them over with a sneer. “I see. It was a mistake to let you start your own colony. I thought you had matured in these last thousand years, but now I realize you’re nothing more than an optimistic, acting like you’ve just emerged, Purple. You think the world is so complex, with so much nuance, but it’s not.”

“It is,” His Diamond insisted, one hand to their chest and the other clenched tightly by their side. “We’ve been here for hundreds of years now, but you only need one day to see how amazing everything is! The life here, it’s so complex and diverse, and the people, they-”

“Enough, Purple!”

The snarl was accompanied by a wave of heat, like scorching hot fire washing over the whole area. Daniel swallowed thickly and put a gentle hand on His Diamond, hoping to comfort them. And maybe himself.

“Tell me,” Red finally said once they had calmed down, their fingers fanned out in front of them as they looked out into the sea of gems. “What is the purpose of a Jade, again?”

His Diamond drew their lips into a thin line. “On Earth, we don’t-”

“Their purpose, Purple. What did you make them for when you first started this colony?”

“...To help expand the kindergartens and build more gem injectors,” His Diamond muttered reluctantly. “But-”

“And the Quartz? What do they do?”

“They protect the Jades while they work, but-”

“The Agates?”

“Ugh, they make sure everyone’s doing their jobs, but-”

“And what is your job?” Red Finally asked, eyes narrowed dangerously. “What purpose do you have, Purple?”

His Diamond looked ready to explode. Through gritted teeth, they hissed, “My purpose is to expand the empire and lead it. But I don’t want to. And none of my gems want to be stuck doing all this! They have potential, they can be whatever they want! We can all be whatever we want, we just need the chance!”

Red glared down at them for a moment, then let out a deep sigh and took on a look of pity. “I see what’s happened. You’ve started to believe that these lesser gems have the same cognizance we do.”

“...What’s that supposed to mean?”

Red tutted and sauntered past them to more closely scrutinize the kindergarten gems. “It means that us Diamonds think on a more complex level than any other creature in the universe. We can feel, conceptualize, think outside the box and come up with ideas that no other could.” They turned back to Purple and swept their hand out. “But they can’t.”

“...That’s not true,” they said as they turned to Red, shoulders squared. “I know for a fact Daniel is way smarter than me! He comes up with most of my ideas!”

“Oh, you think your Pearl is that complex?” Red asked coldly, glancing at Daniel. “It’s just a doll. A toy for you to play with, nothing more than what you make it out to be. An extension of yourself, so to speak. It would never be anything without an owner.”

Those words stung, and he gingerly moved himself back behind His Diamond to try and hide from Red’s gaze. But it made Daniel think… Were they right? Was he really his own person, or just an empty vessel for a drop of His Diamond’s thoughts?

“He could be so much more if he wanted!” His Diamond argued with a step forward, as if trying to shield him from Red’s verbal onslaught. “On his own he could do amazing things! I know he could!”

Red’s eyes never left Daniel. “A Pearl is simply a tool for whoever owns it. If it breaks, it can be replaced. If its owner disappears, it can be reformatted for a new one…”

Invisible strings puppeteered him, forcing his arm up no matter how much he fought to keep it by his side. A star slowly appeared above his hand, but it wasn’t one of his. It was a jagged, uneven looking thing, all malformed and sinister, and every single second it took to form hurt. Like he was drawing too much of himself into it. And too much of something else that didn’t belong. His arm shook, and the pain only got worse as he held it, eyes still glued to Red Diamond’s, a haze settling over him and jumbling his thoughts.

Eliminate Purple Diamond. Do it. That is your order, you know they won’t win this war. They’ll be shattered. But now they’ll be poofed and kept safe. Isn’t that what you want, Daniel? To keep Your Diamond safe? Do it for them.

That was all he wanted. If they were safe, then he could exist happily knowing that he served his purpose. He slowly looked to His Diamond’s back. Yes, all he had to do was poof them…

“Daniel isn’t a tool!” His Diamond’s words cut through to him, striking deep. “He feels and he thinks and he has the most wonderful personality and… He cares about me so much! And I care about him! That’s why I know he’s a million times the gem any of us Diamonds are!”

What was he doing? He couldn’t betray His Diamond, but he couldn’t stop. It was like trying to push against a wall. The star he summoned wouldn’t go away, his body just wouldn’t listen to him. But he had to try something.

“Mmm…”

Red kept his mouth shut. But Daniel wasn’t going to give up without a fight.

“You just can’t understand something not having the same capacity that we do,” Red replied smoothly. “But in time, you will. We all have our place in the universe. Some are just lower than others.”

“My D-Dia…!”

Finally, they turned around. Both Diamonds looked equally shocked for a split-second before he let the star loose, unable to control himself any longer. As it shot right for His Diamond, he collapsed to his knees and used the last of his energy to shout.

“Move!”

A gasp resounded through the sea of gems. Daniel looked up to see that His Diamond had thrown themself out of the way, just in the knick of time. Much to his relief, they weren’t even harmed. But then their head whipped around to look at where the star actually hit, and he followed suit.

For a split-second, Red disappeared- only their glimmering gem floated in the air before they reformed around it, hair tousled, lips pulled back into a vicious snarl as waves of heat rolled off of them.

His Diamond scrambled to the feet and scooped him up, hands protectively cupped around him. Daniel couldn’t see anything but the purple of their gloves and the smallest sliver of sky.

“Alright, Purple,” Red spat, the sound of their boots against the warp pad loud. “If you want a war, then you best prepare yourself. It’s two against one, and you are severely lacking in everything.”

The warp pad whirred to life, only giving Red enough time for one last comment.

“And once this war is won, Black will make sure to fix each and every last gem in your court. Especially that Pearl.”

Their hold on him tightened, and he just then realized that he was shaking.

“I’m sorry, My Diamond… I c-couldn’t…”

They shushed him and moved quickly. “Don’t worry about it. Just get some rest.”

Daniel closed his eyes, and did just that. His Diamond’s warmth radiated off of him, and he fell into a pleasant state of just existing with no thoughts or worries. Just feelings.

“Are you sure you’re okay? Like, really sure?”

Daniel sighed and crossed one leg over the other, eyes firmly on His Diamond from his perch in their throne. “Of course. You really didn’t have to wait by my side this whole time. Now all the gems on Earth are probably worried to pieces.”

They blanched and glanced off to the side. “I, well- look, I had to make sure you were okay!”

“I appreciate the concern, My Diamond,” he said earnestly. “But, well… I’m more worried about you. How-”

“I’m fine,” they answered a little too quickly and swept a hand through their hair. “I just, you know. Almost got poofed. And now we’re in a war. And I don’t even want to know how Black is going to react to all this, or Gray, or how this war is gonna play out, is it gonna be here? Are we gonna fight on Homeworld? Or should I make ships so we can fight in space?”

Daniel frowned and stared down at his lap. “I don’t know, My Diamond. Sorry, I don’t think I’m quite in the right state to come up with ideas, or even try to figure out this whole mess we’ve gotten ourselves into.”

They hummed, then took a deep breath. “That’s okay,” they assured him after a long moment. Then they shot him that devious grin of theirs. “But hey, did you see how you poofed Red? I mean, I don’t think anyone’s poofed a diamond before, let alone a Pearl! And my Pearl too!”

Their Pearl. It was so wonderful to hear.

The look on his face must’ve been obvious. Their cheeks fill with color, and they waved their hands in front of themself while they stammered out, “Uh, I mean, not my Pearl, but… My Pearl, you know?”

He cocked his head. “No, My Diamond. I don’t.”

For a moment, they looked conflicted. Then they gingerly grabbed his hands, and took a knee, head bowed in almost reverence as they repeated themself softly, “My Pearl.”

Daniel froze. Every last ounce of his coding told him how wrong this was. A Diamond bowing to a Pearl? Preposterous! But a surge of emotion swelled inside him, and all he could do to fight against it was whisper a “My Diamond?”

“No, you don’t have to call me that anymore,” they said, finally looking up at him. Oh, that smile. “We’re equals. You can just call me Snail.”

Absolutely not.

But he forced a smile, and even if it felt too sweet on his tongue, he managed to say, “Of course, My… Snail. Whatever you want.”

Even if it felt a little wrong, the look on their face was worth it a million times over. They rose to their feet and let his hands fall from their hold, but then got a thoughtful look on their face. “Guess I have to go talk to everyone now, huh? What am I supposed to say?” A grimace crossed their face. “Sorry, I know you said-”

“Well,” he gently interrupted as he reached back up for their hands, “I think I can handle a little speech. Let’s see…”

Honesty. That was the first thing that came to mind. It was a virtue His Diamond held in spades- far better than the others. But it would be rough, of course.

“Let them know what lies ahead,” he suggested carefully. “Be honest, but not brutal. Let everyone know that it’ll be rough, but… That there’s hope. Even with a war, we can make this our home, and treat it the way it deserves. All we have to do is work together. Some can fight, others can build. Every gem can find its own purpose, and that’s what’ll help us pull through.”

They stared at him with bright eyes. “I can’t believe how good you are with words. Maybe you should lead this whole rebellion!”

“Oh no, I couldn’t!” The very thought made Daniel seize up inside. Even if it also made him feel warm. “I’m just a Pearl, I have no experience leading. And this is too important for me to try and take the reigns of. You have more of a presence, all of our gems will listen to you. You can be the voice and I’ll just help you as needed.”

“Right, yeah,” they said and swept the back of his hands with their thumbs. “And as much as I hate to say it, the other Diamonds wouldn’t take you seriously… But our gems will know that you’re second in command!”

His face grew hot and his hands tightened his hold on them just a touch. “I appreciate that, My- Snail. And I’m more than happy to serve by your side.”

For what felt like an eternity, they just stared down at him, their smile slowly fading but the pure affection never leaving their eyes. Then their hand cupped his face, and he leaned into it on instinct.

“You make me feel like I can do anything,” they whispered quite suddenly. “You have no idea how happy I am to have you, Daniel. And I suck with words, but it’s just so much.”

Daniel felt a fluttering inside him. It was so easy to fall deep into these feelings. So easy to open up. He gave them a cocky smirk. “Of course, My Diamond. You wouldn’t be where you are without me.”

Their eyes widened, then they snorted and poked at his side. “Someone’s getting a little full of himself, huh?”

Oh no. He immediately bowed his head. “I’m sorry, I-”

“Hey, no, it’s okay,” they soothed. “I like it. And I mean, if anyone deserves to be confident, it’s you. Daniel, the Pearl who poofed a Diamond! You’ll be like a hero or something! Everyone will know your name!”

Everyone will know his name? Hmmm...

That sounded quite nice.

[williamrablan]

The first time I ever heard of Soapy Smith was in an old cartoon. Indeed, for the longest time, I put him right up there with the likes of Elmer Fudd, Bugs Bunny, and Mickey Mouse. Someplace in my teenaged years, I discovered he was a real person when I was flipping through an old west book that belonged to my father.

It wasn’t until I became interested in the Old West and especially the bad guys who cruised through my neck of the woods, that I became aware of what an interesting character he was.

Soapy Smith was a conman. At least that’s the nicest thing we can say about him. The way he operated sounds more like something a Mafia Don or head of a drug cartel might do. Had he been working today, the FBI would be camped out on his doorstep just waiting for him to do something.

A list of the illegal things he was into reads like the worst sins in the Bible. He was heavy into prostitution, buying off public officials, and cheating people out of money and properties. At times he operated like Robin hood. Other times like the Devil himself.

Soapy’s real name was Jefferson Randolph Smith II. A pretty impressive name for a not so common crook.

He was born in 1860 in Coweta County, Georgia. Soapy came from a family that was well educated and wealthy. His grandfather owned a plantation and had been a popular legislator. His dad was a lawyer.

All that changed with the South losing the Civil war. Broke, the Smiths moved to Round Rock, Texas, in 1876. Soapy began his career as a conman there.

He left home after the death of his mother and went to Ft. Worth. Here’s where he formed a close-knit gang of assorted other con men and thieves to work for him. Soon, he wore the crown of the “king of the frontier con men.” He was also forming the philosophy and tactics that would make him a well-known crime boss.

The gang subscribed to the philosophy of “A fool, and his money is soon parted.”

They moved from town to town with one objective: to separate people from their money or property. They did this through prostitution, the old Shell Game, three-card Monte, and rigged poker games.

In the late 1870s, early 80s, Soapy came to Denver, Colorado. It’s in Denver that he earned the name he’d be known by.

You have to admit; he had a great racket going here. What he’d do is sell bar soap. Well, so far, no harm done.

After all, there are perfectly legitimate companies that sell soap. Some have even done things like put drinking glasses and towels in as a reason to buy their product. Or promised your whites will be dazzling white and can remove that pizza stain from your favorite T-shirt.

Soapy took this to a whole new level. He’d have several unwrapped bars of soap on his stand. While he’s telling everyone how great the soap is by telling them that they’ll get their muddy pants clean or their whites whiter than white, he started wrapping money around some of the bars.

He’d wrap different values of anywhere from a one-dollar bill to a hundred dollars around the bars. He then folded the money wrapped bars into paper, so they matched a large tub full of soap he was selling. He then APPEARED to mix the soap bars into the bars in the tub.

When people started buying them, a plant out in the audience would announce he got a bar with money and flash a bar that had money around it. It had the desired effect. Everyone was buying the soap.

Now a hundred dollars doesn’t sound like a lot of money by today’s standards. But remember, we’re talking the 1870s here. That one hundred dollars would translate out to a little less than two thousand dollars in 2020. I know many people who willingly lay down one, five, even more dollars to buy a lottery ticket with odds against winning so high that one could say you have zero chance of winning.

Soapy preyed on the same thing people today hope for, a break. And he was convincing enough to make them think that it could happen.

The police quickly figured out what was going on, and this is where Soapy got his handle. A Denver Policeman named John Holland arrested him. While writing the incident up in his logbook, he forgot Soapy’s full name and gave him the nickname of “Soapy.” The name stuck, and he became “Soapy Smith.”

He was able to use the same scam for the next 20 years. It and other scams helped finance a criminal empire.

If there were a manual out there for running a criminal empire, then Soapy was reading it every day and following it to the letter. To protect his kingdom, Soapy paid off police officers, judges, and even politicians and used almost the same tactics to build three major criminal organizations in Denver (1886-1895), Creede, Colorado (1892), and Skagway, Alaska (1897-1898).

As the crime boss of Denver, Soapy did what the likes of Capone and others would do. Typically criminals move about to avoid detection. Not soapy. He owned City Hall and the police and was able to avoid prosecution.

In 1888 he opened the Tivoli Club at the corner of Market and 17th Street. The building was a combination saloon and gambling house. According to legend, the words “caveat emptor” or “Let the buyer beware” was above the staircase leading up to the gambling games. I guess you couldn’t say he didn’t warn them.

The old club is on the left and no longer exists.

Several “front” businesses such as cigar shops and the like opened into poker games and the brothel that operated in the back rooms. Fraudulent lottery shops, stock exchanges, and auction houses also abounded.

Because of payoffs, some local police officers refused to arrest Smith and his associates. Others were afraid of him and his organization. Even when they were arrested, a cadre of friends, lawyers, and associates was ready to get them out of jail.

Also, Smith wasn’t alone in trying to be the crime boss of Denver. There were several attempts on his life, and he shot several assailants. He became increasingly known for his gambling and bad temper.

In 1892, things changed in Denver. There was a massive move to get rid of gambling, and there were saloon reforms. Seeing the change, Smith sold the Tivoli, packed up his operation, and moved to Creede, Colorado.

By having several of his working girls cozy up to property owners, they convinced them to sign over their leases. Soon, Soapy acquired numerous lots on Creede’s main street and rented them to associates. Once he had the backing, he announced he was the camp boss. In short, using his money and properties, Soapy proclaimed himself mayor.

Creede before the Fire

Soapy opened the Orleans Club. With the help of his brother-in-law and a gang member, William Sidney “Cap” Light, who was now the Deputy Sheriff, he started his second empire.

Smith provided an order of sorts for the small town. He also protected his friends and associates from the Legitimate Town Council and sent troublemakers packing. To curry favor with the locals, he used his money by helping the poor, built churches, and buried the unfortunate.

Along the way, some of his associates became friends with another old west outlaw named Bob Ford, who shot and killed Jesse James. There have been rumors, mostly unsupported, that Soapy may have had something to do with Ford’s killing. The suspicion is that Soapy at least suggested it to O’Kelley (who killed Ford). If Soapy did, O’Kelley never confirmed it and took it to his grave.

What is known is that Soapy left Creede to return to Denver just a few days before the great Creede fire destroyed the community. The situation had changed in Denver, making it possible for him to return to his criminal enterprises there.

Besides, the silver in Creede had begun to play out, and who wants to be king of a ghost town.

Soapy was soon back up to his old tricks in Denver. But the State of Colorado was about to interfere with his life.

Davis Waite was elected Governor of Colorado on a reform platform. One of his first tasks was to fire three Denver officials he felt weren’t abiding by his mandates. They refused to leave and were soon joined by others who felt their jobs were threatened. The state militia was called to remove those fortified in City Hall.

Smith joined the corrupt officeholders and police in City Hall. He was given a commission as a Deputy Sheriff. Armed with rifles and dynamite, he and several others climbed to the top of City Hall with the intent to fight off any attackers.

Fortunately, cooler heads prevailed, and the incident known as the “City Hall War” came to a close.

Smith continued being the crime boss, but soon he got a little too big for his own good. His patrons in the City Hall and other places could no longer offer the protection he needed. When he was charged with the attempted murder of a saloon manager, he ran, leaving others to take control of his various enterprises.

His running took him to Skagway, Alaska.

It was 1897, and gold was the attraction for many. Soapy was soon up to his old tricks there. His first try at taking over Skagway failed. A Miner’s Committee encouraged (whatever that means) him to leave. He didn’t return till the following year.

He got a U.S. marshal on his payroll and sat about collecting friends and allies. His best front was a Telegraph Office. For a fee, they’d send a telegraph message for a miner. Since telegraph lines hadn’t reached Skagway yet, any messages sent went from the desk to the trash can. The place also served as a front for rigged poker games.

Smith opened a saloon called Jeff Smith’s Parlor. Besides drinking, it also offered the same rigged games he’d ran for years as well as the usual house of ill-repute. Despite having a city infrastructure, Smith’s Saloon became the “the real City Hall” because he was running Skagway at this point.

The problem was there were some solid citizens in the community, and they were getting tired of Smith and his gang. They knew all about Smith and companies deception, and so they formed a group known as the “The Committee of 101” threatened to expel Smith and company.

Smith retaliated by forming his own Law and Order society with 317 members and forced the vigilantes into submission.

The war for Skagway had begun.

July 8 marks the day Soapy Smith met his maker.

The previous day, a miner named John Stewart came in with a sack of gold. A couple of Soapy’s associates separated him from it in a game of three-card monte. When Stewart balked at paying them, the men grabbed the money and ran.

This is what Stewart said occurred:

I told Foster I should hold him for the money, and the old man, Van Triplett, said we acted as if we could not trust him, and gave some of the money back, and then said he would give us a chance to win it [all back], so Foster turned the right card and [Triplett] started to give him the money, but said, ‘Supposing you had bet that in earnest, did you have the money to put up?’ Foster said, ‘No,’ and turning to me said, ‘You have the money,’ and I said no, I did not have any money; that he took it all, but he said, ‘You have some dust,’ and wanted me to get it just to show the old man that we had the money in case the bet had been a real one. Bowers and I went to Kaufman’s store to get the money and Van Triplett and Foster remained behind. We came back with the dust and I unrolled it and showed them the sack, and the old man said he did not know if that was gold, and Bowers said, ‘Open it and show it to him, as he don’t know gold dust when he sees it,’ but I did not open it, and [was] just about to roll it up again, when Foster grabbed it and handing it to the old man, said, “Git!” and I started to grab the old man when they held me and said if I made a noise it would not be well for me. I pulled away from them and started after the old man, but could not see him and then went across the street and asked a party where there was an officer: that I had been robbed of $3,000 by some men over there.

The officer he went to was Deputy U.S. Marshal Sylvester S. Taylor. It didn’t get him anywhere because Taylor was on Soapy’s payroll, and he told Stewart that if he stayed quiet about the matter, he’d see what he could do.

Stewart didn’t stay quiet. He told anyone who would listen what had happened. Soon, the streets were starting up in an uproar.

Things concerning the incident get a little confusing here. Some say that Soapy dug in and said that if Stewart hadn’t made such a big deal about it, he would make amends. Others say he would make amends and promised his mn would do nothing of the sorts in the future.

According to a promise made by Smith, the money was supposed to have been returned by 4 PM that day. But 4 PM came and went, and no money. Word reached Smith that there was trouble coming, and he is reputed to have said, “By God, trouble is what I’m looking for.”

Trouble arrived in the form of U.S. Commissioner Charles A. Sehibrede. He demanded that Soapy meet him at the Marshal’s office. In the Marshal and a reporter’s presence, Sehibrede demanded that the money be returned, and the people who did this arrested.

I don’t know if he got the answer he expected because Smith stuck to his story. It’s reported that:

.. the boys who had the money won it in a fair game, and they should keep it. He also said he had a hundred men who would stand behind him and see that they were protected. The judge finally told him he [Smith] could not afford to stand up for a gang of thieves, but he [Smith] almost screamed—”Well, Judge, declare me in with the thieves. I’ll stay with them,” and with that he passionately beat the table with his fist and left the room.

After he left, Sehibrede asked if he swore out warrants, would the Marshal arrest them. He was told he would.

But the time for a negotiated settlement had run out.

Two separate vigilante groups decided to do something about it. The larger group, the “Citizens Committee,” had a meeting at Sylvester Hall. So many people showed up the facility couldn’t accommodate them all. Additionally, several of Smith’s men showed up, intending to disrupt the meeting.

As a result, another meeting was held at the Skagway Wharf Improvement Company building, most commonly known as Juneau Wharf.

At the meeting, four men were appointed to keep trouble makers (Smith’s men) out. Of the four, the only one who was armed was Frank Reid, and that was with a .38 caliber pistol.

About nine that evening, Smith received a message that things were about to get uglier and that if he wanted to do something, this was the time to do it.

He decided to attend the meeting. Arming himself with a rifle, Soapy took a walk to the wharf in the company of several of his men. Ordering his men to stay back a little, he walked on.

According to accounts, the men were in at least three different groups. When Soapy encountered the first group, he ordered them off the wharf. They were happy to comply.

The second group of men was Josias Tanner, a ship and barge Captain, and Jesse Murphy, a railroad employee. Soapy walked past them without acknowleding their existence.

That left Reid standing between him and the meeting.

According to accounts, Reid told Soapy he couldn’t go any further. The two men began to argue and swear at each other. Now here’s where witness accounts differ.

They all agree that reid still had his 38 in his belt, and Soapy had the rifle on his shoulder. No one seems to agree on who shot first. Some say Reid drew and fired, others that Soapy tried to fire at Reid. What is agreed on is that the Shootout on Juneau Wharf began unexpectedly.

Allegedly, Soapy brought the rifle off his shoulder. If he meant to shot Reid or club him aside isn’t clear, but Reid blocked it with his arm.  Somehow, Reid got cut in all this by the rifle but managed to push it down and drew his own weapon. He pointed it at Soapy and pulled the trigger. The hammer fell on a defective round and didn’t discharge.

Someplace in here, Soapy is supposed to have said, “My God, don’t shoot!”

Soapy jerked the rifle away and accounts state was that both men fired at the same time. There were at least five shots fired. Reid took a bullet in his leg and then fired off two rounds at Soapy.

One bullet grazed Soapy’s left arm while the other went through the left thigh right above the knee.

Soapy chambered another round, and this time shot Reid in the stomach. Reid collapsed to the dock, mortally wounded.

As Smith’s men rushed toward their wounded leader, Jess Murphy, one of the guards along with Reid, grabbed Soapy’s rifle away from him and, turning it towards Soapy, pulled the trigger.

This might also have been where Soapy uttered his last words of “My God. Don’t shoot!”

It didn’t do any good. Smith died on the spot.

As Soapy’s men surged forward, Murphy pointed the rifle at them. One of Soapy’s men is supposed to have pulled his weapon and aimed it at Tanner. But seeing Murphy aiming his boss’s rifle at him and the approach of “Committee” men pouring out of the meeting, he didn’t fire. “Someone is supposed to have yelled, “They killed Soapy, and if you don’t get going, they’ll kill you too.”

Before long, all of Soapy’s men had either fled or been rounded up. The Army came in to keep the peace and threatened martial law.

Stewart’s gold was found with Soapy’s possessions, and except for $600.00 was all accounted for. It was returned to him.

Tanner became a deputy U.S. Marshal.

Frank Reid died of his wounds twelve days later. His funeral was the largest Skagway had seen up to that point. His headstone was inscribed with “He gave his life for the honor of Skagway.”

The king of con men was buried several yards outside the city cemetery.

The Bad Guys of the San Luis Valley – Part 3 – Soapy Smith The first time I ever heard of Soapy Smith was in an old cartoon. Indeed, for the longest time, I put him right up there with the likes of Elmer Fudd, Bugs Bunny, and Mickey Mouse.

[benrleeusa]

[Ilya Somin] The Politics of Game of Thrones Revisited

The imminent start of the final season of Game of Thrones is a good time to consider the series' political message, and reprise some of my work on that subject. Plus, a discussion of the political economy portrayed in George R.R. Martin's recently published prequel to the series.

The final season of the of the hit TV series Game of Thrones begins this weekend, on April 14, ending a long wait that began when Season 7 ended in 2017. One of the many interesting aspects of the series and the books by George R.R. Martin on which it is based, is the attempt to address a variety of political issues. While some might consider it frivolous to assess the political message of a fantasy show, it's worth remembering that far more people consume science fiction and fantasy media than read serious nonfiction analyses of political issues. And social science research indicates that science fiction and fantasy, such as the Harry Potter series, can even have a significant influence on fans' political views. At the very least, discussing the politics of Game of Thrones is less painful than analyzing the much grimmer politics of the real world! Valar morghulis - "all men must die" - is all too true. But at least we can have some fun with fictional political economy first!

Over the last several years, I have written a good deal about the politics of Game of Thrones. My most extensive analysis is a 2017 article focusing on what it might take to fulfill Daenerys Targaryen's vow to "break the wheel" of Westeros' awful political system:

In a famous scene in Season 5 of Game of Thrones, Daenerys Targaryen compares the struggle for power in Westeros to a spinning wheel that elevates one great noble house and then another. She vows that she does not merely intend to turn the wheel in her own favor: "I'm not going to stop the wheel. I'm going to break the wheel."

In the world of the show, Daenerys's statement resonates because the rulers of Westeros have made a terrible mess of the continent...

Daenerys's desire to "break the wheel" suggests the possibility of a better approach. But, what exactly, does breaking the wheel entail?...

Even in the late stages of... Season 7, Daenerys seems to have little notion of what it means beyond defeating her enemies and installing herself as Queen on Westeros's Iron Throne....

Unlike most of the other rulers we see in the series, Daenerys has at least some genuine interest in improving the lot of ordinary people. Before coming to Westeros, she and her army freed tens of thousands of slaves on the continent of Essos. She delayed her departure from Essos long enough to try to establish a new government in the liberated areas that would — hopefully — prevent backsliding into slavery.

Nonetheless, it is not clear whether Daenerys has any plan to prevent future oppression and injustice other than to replace the current set of evil rulers with a better one: herself. The idea of "breaking the wheel" implies systemic institutional reform, not just replacing the person who has the dubious honor of planting his or her rear end on the Iron Throne in King's Landing. If Daenerys has any such reforms in mind, it is hard to say what they are....

Daenerys's failure to give serious consideration to institutional problems is shared by the other great leader beloved by fans of the show: Jon Snow, the newly enthroned King in the North. Perhaps even more than Daenerys, Jon has a genuine concern for ordinary people....

Perhaps to an even greater extent than Daenerys, however, Jon does not have any real notion of institutional reform....

But in Medieval Europe, on which Westeros is roughly based, parliaments, merchants' guilds, autonomous cities, and other institutions eventually emerged to challenge and curb the power of kings and nobles. These developments gradually helped lead to the Renaissance, the Enlightenment, and the economic growth that led to modern liberal democracy. Few if any such developments are in evidence in Westeros, which seems to have had thousands of years of economic, technological, and intellectual stagnation.

The characters in the books and the TV show are not the only ones who largely ignore the need for institutional change. We the fans are often guilty of the same sin.....

Most of us read fantasy literature and watch TV shows to be entertained, not to get a lesson in political theory. And it is much easier to develop an entertaining show focused on the need to replace a villainous evil ruler with a good, heroic, and virtuous one, than to produce an exciting story focused on institutional questions..... Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire is comparatively unusual in even raising the possibility that institutional reform is the real solution to its fictional world's problems, and in making this idea one of the central themes of the story.

However understandable, the pop culture fixation on heroic leaders rather than institutions reinforces a dangerous tendency of real-world politics. The benighted people of Westeros are not the only ones who hope that their problems might go away if only we concentrate vast power in the hands of the right ruler. The same pathology has been exploited by dictators throughout history, both left and right.

It is also evident, in less extreme form, in many democratic societies.....

For all its serious flaws, our situation is not as bad as that of Westeros. But we too could benefit from more serious consideration of ways to break the wheel, as opposed to merely spin it in another direction. And our popular culture could benefit from having more stories that highlight the value of institutions, as well as heroic leaders. However much we love Daenerys and Jon, they and their real-world counterparts are unlikely to give us a better wheel on their own.

Back in 2016, I discussed Game of Thrones/Song of Ice and Fire in an article on the politics of several science fiction and fantasy series where I highlighted the series' skeptical view of political elites. In this 2013 post, I discussed the significance of the "Red Wedding," one of the most shocking and controversial episodes in the history of the series. Back in 2011, when the series first began, I commented on some of the political issues raised by the struggle for the Iron Throne, building on an Atlantic symposium about the series.

In August 2017, I participated in a panel on the politics of Game of Thrones, sponsored by the R Street Institute and the Cato Institute, along with Alyssa Rosenberg (Washington Post), Peter Suderman (Reason), and Matthew Yglesias (Vox). We are hoping to reprise our discussion during the final season.

During the long interregnum between the end of Season 7 and the start of Season 8, George R.R. Martin published the first volume of Fire and Blood, the history of House Targaryen's rule over the Seven Kingdoms of Westeros. The book predictably divided fans, many of whom would have preferred that Martin finish the long-awaited Winds of Winter instead. But I thought it was fascinating. At the very least, it did provide a lot of information about Westeros' political system. Here are a few examples (with spoilers largely avoided):

1. Even when the king is both competent and relatively well-intentioned, the political system doesn't function all that well. When he is either malevolent or incompetent, all kinds of disasters happen. And badly flawed kings seem to be more common than good ones. The high frequency of bad kings and the inability of good ones to make much progress is a strong sign that the monarchy's flaws are mostly systemic, rather than the fault of a few flawed individual rulers.

2. Like the Roman Empire, Westeros under the Targaryen kings never developed any generally accepted rules of succession. Thus, civil war breaks out over such issues as whether male offspring of the king take precedence over female ones who are older and/or more closely related. It is also not clear whether the king has the right to designate his own heir, or whether there are laws of succession that he cannot set aside (and if so, what they are).

3. Despite the above, Fire and Blood actually deepens the mystery of why Westeros has had so many centuries of economic stagnation. It shows that the kings invested in useful infrastructure (e.g. - ports and roads) and that there are many sources of investment capital other than the Iron Bank of Braavos. Plus, several of the great houses engage in extensive trade with other parts of the world. All of this should stimulate considerable innovation, growth, and technological progress. Yet very little seems to occur.

4. Fire and Blood makes clear that the stagnation probably is not caused by dragons, despite speculation to the contrary by commentators on the earlier books and TV show. There are never more than about 10-15 domesticated dragons in Westeros at any one time, and they don't seem to be used for anything but warfare and transportation for their riders (mostly members of the royal family). They clearly do not substitute for labor-saving devices or provide transportation for trade. And, while they are powerful battlefield weapons, they are clearly not invincible and their presence should stimulate military innovation, not stifle it.

5. Based on what we see, it is far from clear that Targaryen blood is actually necessary to become a dragonrider. If it is, only a tiny bit seems to be enough. This suggests that the number of domesticated dragons and dragonriders could be greatly expanded. If so, dragons could actually help jumpstart the economy! There is a lot they could do to increase Westerosi productivity, if they started to take on jobs other than killing people and transporting VIPs.

6. Women are clearly second-class citizens in Westeros. But they seem to have higher social status and more autonomy than their real-world medieval equivalents. We even see a number of cases of them entering male-dominated professions, including warfare. This further deepens the mystery of Westerosi stagnation, as relatively freer Westerosi women should be more productive than those of medieval Europe, yet this does not seem to result in much increased growth.

Perhaps we will get more insights on the politics of Westeros from Season 8, and George R.R. Martin's long-awaited Winds of Winter. Until then, don't forget that political chaos is a ladder!

[theliterateape]

White Privilege: Finding Pragmatics Apart from Spiritual Dogma

By Don Hall

A while back I wrote a piece about my acknowledgement of my own white, male privilege with the simple question: now what?

I am not only aware but well aware of the privileges I have lived with in American society. I won’t feel guilt for them as I had no control over being born in a predominantly white culture (which is scheduled to change dramatically in the next 20 years, dontcha know...). If acknowledgement of privilege is the first step, what’re the second and thirds? I still don’t see a pragmatic answer to the question. I mean, I still see lots of handwringing and bloviation about white privilege and how oppressive it has been and is but I guess I’m missing what I’m supposed to do about it aside from acknowledging its existence.

I hear a lot of connecting the obvious privilege to the proliferation of white supremacy which is like saying that all Germans were Nazis and all sailors are pirates. The logic behind the assertion is similar to “believe all women," which is just as ludicrous as "all women are liars." There is quite a difference between living with privilege baked into a system designed by others to keep that privilege esoteric and the act of supremacist thought and open bigotry.

It still feels an awful lot like admitting to original sin to the Catholic Church and being told to feel shitty about it but offering no actual active recourse to wash that shit off. The implication is that, by no other connection than birth and skin color, the specter of slavery will hang on me until the day I die. If I was apathetic to the horrors of being black in America, it wouldn't make much difference to me. But I'm not apathetic, I'm invested in the rollback or reparations necessary to equal the playing field for all people.

I took a look at a series of prompts on Instagram and YouTube recently (#MeAndWhiteSupremacy: A 28-day truth-telling journey of what you have learned about your personal complicity in white supremacy) and it reads like religious indoctrination.

Here’s an example:

No solutions. No absolution available. This sort of demagoguery is designed to create a permanent sense of shame and guilt in the listener. It is the use of solid progressive ideas to manufacture a sinner mentality in anyone willing to buy into it. Exactly like religion. “You are a stained and evil creature,” the Cult Leader insists. “There is no way to wash away the stain yet you must acknowledge it daily. In your consistent reminder of how unworthy you are and how tainted your life is, you must turn to me and receive more subtle condemnation in the illusion of growth.”

The automatic response to a white guy rejecting this approach is that it makes me uncomfortable and that I’m fragile. I’m anything but uncomfortable with having conversations. I believe that dialogue rather than simply being told to shut up and listen is the key to growth. That said, having a dialogue about sin with a religious zealot is a cul de sac from which there is no escape.

This sort of horseshit requires not acceptance, not inclusion, not equity, but deference. Which is probably fair as black people have had to defer to whites since some Africans sold their tribal enemies to white slave traders who then sold them to capitalists in America. Fair, certainly, but not terribly feasible. To expect deference of a majority to a minority without violent overthrow is to not only ignore thousands of years of empirical examples but to deny human nature.

Sure. You’ll get some virtue signaling depressives desperately looking for some meaning in their vapid lives to fall on the sword handed to them but most reasoning adults will share the privilege rather than subjugate themselves to dogma. In the aforementioned article I wrote, “The only white allies willing to go along with that are the least capable, least passionate, least effective allies.” My only amendment might be about the passion because these, as the Cult Leader refers to them, “Optical Allies” are extremely passionate if not completely misguided in the same way that a herd of lemmings exhibits great enthusiasm as they careen off of a cliff to their demise.

Who wants to go to war against genuine white supremacists with such weak and malleable allies?

So, having dismissed the Search Your Soul for Your Complicity cult, my question still stands — now what? What pragmatic steps can I do to equalize the playing field? I ask because I want to do something that smacks of a genuine solution rather than get the branch from the tree and smack myself over and over. In my acknowledgement of privilege, I assume no responsibility for the sins of my forefathers as I didn't own slaves, nor did I lynch blacks. I am a beneficiary of a racist system but cannot feel personally responsible for its existence. Assumption of guilt without the prerequisite crime is brainwashed mush.

Let’s assume that unconscious bias and privileged behavior is trash that needs to be carted off for the landfill.

Not long ago, working with the maintenance crew at the park, we ended up sending mounds of programs to be recycled. I asked them what they wanted us to do with the programs to make their transport easier for them.

They offered no solution.

We trashed them in the dumpsters and it made them too heavy. They complained. I suggested a few ideas which they found unacceptable. I asked for a better solution.

Nothing. Just not the dumpsters, they said.

We stacked them clumsily on the palette they came on. Nope. They hated that.

I suggested a few other alternatives. What about a dedicated receptacle? How about we use park trash cans but individual program carts so it breaks it up? Nope and nope. I asked for a better solution. And they came back with smaller dumpsters. Problem solved.

I understand the meme that states privilege (tenuously connect the dots to white supremacy, here) is a white problem for white people to solve. Is it, though? Is it just a white problem? I don’t think so. It is an American problem, no question but the central idea of America is that we work together rather work at each other. Certainly, we have trash to carry out. The “search your damaged soul and reflect on the damage” is not a solution, it’s a mantra with no end. I’m asking for a better solution.

What's a solution look like?

I think it looks like legislation and the enforcement of it. I think it looks like money pumped into school systems populated by black and brown kids. I think it looks like some sort of reparations package in the form of free lifetime housing and college for those with direct lineage to chattel slavery and Native American ancestry. I think it looks like substantive police reform.

I do not think it looks like people already feeling shitty about things flagellating themselves for ills they ultimately had nothing to do with like sitting on the side of a road in North Dakota and weeping openly at the genocide of Native Americans. I do not think privilege is lost or shared through manipulated deference.

Everyone — even rabid Republicans and bigots — understand that white privilege exists. Whether they acknowledge it or not, they can’t miss it. Like climate change and the fallacy of Friedman economics, denying its existence is simply whistling at the monster in the room.

It isn’t whether it exists or not that is the issue but what to do about it.

Using the tools of religion to stigmatize people into castigating themselves over an advantage they possess but had no hand in creating is a piss-poor strategy. And, while it may seem to be a traditionally male approach, pragmatic tactical solutions are the only way this thing gets shifted so that we all share in the privilege, we all share in the power, and we all share in the equity.

This goal of sharing power and privilege has never worked in the history of humankind but it’s a goal worth attempting. 

[newstfionline]

Can religion solve El Salvador’s gang problem?

Sarah Esther Maslin, The Economist, April/May 2018

Sirens blare and helicopters roar as the sun rises over the hills of San Salvador. It’s 10.30am on February 2nd, and nine police officers have just been ambushed. They got a call an hour ago about a stash house where members of the Barrio 18 gang were hiding guns. When they showed up, the gangsters blitzed them with bullets. One officer is dead. Five are in the hospital. Two corpses, identifiable as gang members by the tattoos that cover their bodies, lie sprawled on the ground.

Less than three miles away, in a neighbourhood controlled by the same gang, another group of tattooed men prepare for action in a dark hallway. Loud music, clanging metal and frenzied chatter bounce off the walls. Dressing carefully, the men watch the clock. At 2pm, they nod to each other, gather their supplies and open the heavy metal door.

Light streams in and the smell of fresh bread wafts out. The men break into pairs, hoisting cloth-covered plastic crates onto their shoulders, and head off in different directions. “Sweet bread! Garlic bread! Bread with ham! Pizza!” they shout. When the crates are empty and their pockets full of coins, the men return to the constricted quarters in the back of the Eben-Ezer church where they run the small bakery.

Over the past year, the church has become a refuge for recently released prisoners who are trying to leave the Barrio 18 gang and pledge themselves to God. There’s Saúl, whose sister drove him straight to the church when he left prison five months ago after serving 15 years for murder. There’s Cristóbal, who spent a decade hiding in Guatemala only to discover on his return that the gang had recruited his teenage son. There’s Raúl, who has a limp from a gun battle with the rival gang, MS-13, and a face inked from chin to forehead like a newspaper. There’s Christofer, who waited in prison for a month after his release date because he had no one to fetch him. Numbers rise and fall, but these days Eben-Ezer usually provides sanctuary to half a dozen people who want to escape the grip of gangs that are tearing their country apart.

El Salvador is a country of volcanoes dotted with coffee plantations and valleys filled with sugarcane fields. It is also a country of barbed-wire fences, security guards with guns, and neighbourhoods where visitors must roll down the car windows so that the gangs’ teenage postes can see who goes in and out. The Colonia Dina is one such neighbourhood, a jumble of working-class houses decorated with plants and Christmas lights, and sheet-metal shacks surrounded by rubbish and muddy chickens.

At the bottom of a hill under a drooping almond tree stands the Eben-Ezer church, a yellow concrete building barely distinguishable from the houses on either side. A small congregation gathers three times a week in a high-ceilinged sanctuary with rows of plastic chairs, a platform for the rock band that accompanies the Pentecostal service, a podium for the pastors and little else. Down a staircase in the back left corner, in rooms normally used for Bible study, former gang members bake bread by day and sleep on thin mattresses on the floor by night.

At first glance, the church’s leaders make an odd couple. Nelson Moz is Eben-Ezer’s official pastor, a baby-faced man in his 50s with glasses and a thick moustache. Early last year, he opened his doors to Wilfredo Gómez, a 41-year-old gangster-turned-preacher with twinkling eyes and a mystical church named the Last Trumpet. The two pastors acknowledge that they’re trying to do what many consider impossible: spirit away members of El Salvador’s powerful gangs. But they believe this is the country’s only hope.

Gómez’s early memories are tinged with violence: knife fights between his alcoholic uncles, and bomb blasts from a civil war that left one in 60 Salvadorans dead and one in four displaced. When he was ten, a tall man wearing RayBans showed up at his grandmother’s apartment in a poor neighbourhood of San Salvador and announced that he would be taking the boy to Los Angeles. The man was his father, a taxi driver whose sympathy for the leftist guerrilla army had forced him to flee the country when Gómez was three. He was also a drug addict who beat his wife and turned a blind eye when his pre-teen son joined a gang.

Barrio 18 and MS-13, its leading competitor, originated in Los Angeles among the children of refugees. The gangs started as posses of marginalised teenagers--MS-13 members shared a fondness for heavy metal--but before long they were stockpiling guns and machetes to defend themselves against black and Mexican rivals. Gómez lived at 18th Street and Union, the cradle of Barrio 18, which gave the gang its name (barrio means “neighbourhood”). Originally lured by the gangsters’ fresh sense of style--baggy Dickies jeans, tight white muscle shirts and Nike Cortez trainers--Gómez ran away from his abusive father to live on the streets. He moved in with a palabrero, a local gang leader, selling drugs and beating up rivals to earn his keep. “They saw me as a good soldier, a good prospect,” he says. “I was the kid who didn’t think.”

Gómez moved up the ranks, gaining leadership and responsibility as he battled enemies, shuffled drugs and prostitutes between Los Angeles and Las Vegas, and bounced between prison and hospital. One doctor, marvelling at his x-rays after a gunfight that earned him four bullet wounds but no damage to major organs, asked Gómez his nom de guerre. “Villain,” Gómez said. “It should be ‘Lucky’,” the doctor replied. But in 2007, his luck ran out. Gómez found himself on a plane back to El Salvador with 50 other deportees. Three months later, he got a ten-year sentence for stealing a bodyguard’s Uzi submachinegun.

Gómez was one of thousands of gang members deported back to El Salvador in the 1990s and early 2000s by the administrations of Bill Clinton and George W. Bush. Twelve years of fighting had left El Salvador’s institutions and infrastructure in tatters. The warring sides--rebels with socialist leanings who wanted democracy and land reform; and a right-wing government backed by communist-paranoid America--had agreed to peace on paper, but street crime soon supplanted political violence. An amnesty law that pardoned egregious atrocities cemented a culture of impunity. The polarised political parties that had morphed out of wartime rivalry were too busy duking it out to bother governing. The country’s poorest floundered.

A hot spot during the cold war, El Salvador never really cooled down. After the mass deportations, gangs spread like fire in a sugarcane field. Poor kids looked up to new arrivals like Gómez with their Spanglish and their American clothes; parents working full-time or living thousands of miles away in America struggled to peel them away.

There are now more than 70,000 gang members in El Salvador, Honduras and Guatemala. MS-13 and two factions of Barrio 18 have carved up much of the region’s territory. In pockets where public services and streetlights are scarce, the gangs have more sway than the government. They patrol the neighbourhood, checking ID cards and licence-plate numbers, keeping watch for rivals and police.

Unlike Colombian cartels or Mexican narcos, Central American street gangs don’t get rich by trafficking drugs. They don’t have a lucrative business empire like the Russian or Italian mafia. Money to buy food and guns comes from small-scale extortion--renta--collected from residents and businesses in zones under gang control. The dividends don’t add up to much: most rank-and-file gang members earn less than $65 a month, half the minimum wage of an agricultural day labourer.

Such paltry profits show that the gang phenomenon is more social than criminal, says José Miguel Cruz, a researcher at Florida International University who has been studying the gangs in his native El Salvador for two decades. Still, warring gangs have made El Salvador one of the most violent countries in the world. Its homicide rate in 2017 was 60 murders per 100,000 people, compared with New York City’s homicide rate of 3.4 per 100,000. Last year, 290 people were murdered in New York. If the city had the same homicide rate as El Salvador, 5,130 people would have died.

In 2013, the breakdown of a shaky truce between gang leaders and the government led to bloody street battles and the exodus of hundreds of thousands of Salvadorans, Guatemalans and Hondurans to the US-Mexico border. The arrival of unaccompanied teenagers and the scarcity of support they encountered fuelled a spate of gang-related violence in immigrant communities on Long Island and in the DC suburbs. President Donald Trump called MS-13 members “animals” and in the past year has seized on murders in a few isolated areas of the country to justify ramping up immigration raids, cancelling several asylum programmes for Central Americans and calling for the construction of a border wall.

For the past several years, US policy in Central America has focused on finding ways to stem the flow of migrants. As part of the effort, the US State Department hired Cruz in 2016 to lead a study examining why Salvadoran youths joined gangs and under what conditions they left.

The study found that most gang members come from disintegrated, dysfunctional families. They seek resources from the gang--friendship, protection, money and self-confidence--that aren’t provided at home. New recruits join at the age of 15, on average. At that age, the rewards of la vida loca--getting high off marijuana, controlling women, demanding respect--seem worth the risk of police harassment, prison time, and even death. “This view of the gangs remains unchallenged during the adolescent years, but starts to fade as the person matures, forms a family of his/her own, and faces the hardships brought by gang violence and law enforcement persecution,” the authors wrote.

Such hardships have increased in recent years as the gangs have become more powerful and police retaliation more brutal. Salvadoran security forces killed 39 alleged gang members in 2013. In 2016, they killed 603. “If you’re a gang member, everybody is your enemy now,” says Cruz. The average age of study participants was 25--elderly for a gang member. More than 60% claimed to be in some stage of “calming down” or leaving the gang, a remarkable percentage considering the difficulty of doing so. Joining requires getting beaten up by fellow members, and in some cases committing at least one murder. Tattoos signal permanent commitment. In El Salvador, the saying goes, the only way to leave the gang is in a body bag.

In 2009, an inmate named Nilson Bonilla in the Izalco prison in south-western El Salvador had a vision that his wife brought him a message from God. He should found a church and name it after a verse from Corinthians: “It will happen in a moment, in the blink of an eye, when the last trumpet is blown. For when the trumpet sounds, those who have died will be raised to live for ever. And we who are living will also be transformed.”

Bonilla announced that God had chosen him to be pastor of a new congregation called the Last Trumpet, and he convinced six other prisoners to join him. What the church lacked in membership it made up in spirit. Services, called cultos, involved speaking in tongues, spontaneous healing and rapturous displays of gratitude to God for saving members from the gang, which they believed was a tool of the Devil. When Gómez was transferred to Izalco in 2013, this spectacle filled him with a giddiness he hadn’t felt since he was a teenager running with the gang, high on PCP and adrenaline. “People who were tattooed from head to foot were crying like babies,” he recalls. “But it was from the power of God. I said to myself, ‘I want to experience that.’”

The Last Trumpet was not the first church to be born in a Salvadoran prison; dozens have cropped up over the years. But it has survived longer than most, despite a mass transfer of Barrio 18 members to another maximum-security prison in San Francisco Gotera and a state of emergency imposed on seven prisons in March 2016.

In response to a soaring murder rate and the massacre of 11 agricultural and electrical workers by Barrio 18 members, the government passed a series of “extraordinary measures” that were originally approved for a two-week period but remain in place two years on. Visits by relatives, doctors and judges were eliminated and recreation time was banned to reduce trafficking of weapons, drugs and cell phones. Now thousands of gang members spend 24 hours a day, seven days a week in overflowing cells.

In October 2016, members of the Last Trumpet--including Gómez, who had become one of the church’s leaders--asked the director of the Gotera prison if they could move to a separate section where they could hold religious services and “live in peace” away from active gang members. To their surprise, the director agreed. Within weeks, some 400 prisoners announced that they were leaving the gang to join the church.

Saúl Masferrer was one of those prisoners. Now 37, he started looking for God in 2010 after his mother died of a heart attack. After the prison director denied him permission to attend the funeral, he appealed to a God he wasn’t sure he believed in. If you let me go to the funeral, I’ll leave the gang, he promised. The next day, the prison director changed his mind. Masferrer arrived just before the casket was lowered into the ground, accompanied by four armed guards and chained at the waist, ankles and wrist “like a dog”.

He spent the next six years ping-ponging between the gang and the Bible, until the mass exodus in 2016. He acknowledges that the miserable conditions of the lockdown helped spark his decision--the religious section was slightly less squalid--but he doesn’t credit the government. He insists that the extraordinary measures that drove so many gangsters to leave were “a method God imposed”.

El Salvador used to be overwhelmingly Catholic. Then evangelical missionaries started arriving en masse in the second half of the 20th century. The failure of the established church to stick up for victims of scorched-earth campaigns and government repression during the civil war drove many families out of cathedrals and into the ramshackle templos springing up throughout the slums. Nowadays, more than 40% of El Salvador’s population is Protestant. Poor communities favour Pentecostalism, which shuns pomp and hierarchy and emphasises personal transformation, scripture and discipline.

Rehabilitating gang members demands filling the void that drove them into gangs. Pentecostalism offers a compelling mix of boot-strapping individualism and tight-knit community. Religion can provide comfort and forgiveness to those who’ve committed heinous crimes. Some 95% of gang members interviewed by Cruz’s team said that their relationship with God was very important to them. More than half said that joining a church was the best way to leave a gang.

Some swear it is the only way. Gangs stay in power by maintaining a large standing army; defectors undermine their projection of strength. Members know sensitive information: the location of weapon stashes and clandestine graves, the gang’s leadership structure and its extortion network. Gangs need to manage this risk, so leaving entails a delicate process of negotiation. Older gangsters who have proved their trustworthiness have an easier time, as do churchgoers who avoid alcohol, drugs and other activities associated with la vida loca. Religion serves as a kind of ankle tag that lets the gang keep an eye on its former members.

That may be part of the reason why the Eben-Ezer church in the Colonia Dina has a relationship, albeit an uneasy one, with the local gang. It started with Raúl Valladares, the convert with the limp and tattooed face. Born and raised in the neighbourhood, he joined the gang at the age of ten and spent time in five prisons for robbery and gun possession. He left behind his “pyrotechnic past” to become a Christian in 2006; his commitment to God survived the murder of his wife 24 hours after their wedding. When his Barrio 18 pals offered to avenge her death, Valladares refused. After that, the gang took his transformation seriously.

He nearly rejoined in 2012 when he left prison and found himself sleeping in an abandoned house where gang members gather to smoke dope and plan crimes. In desperation he asked if he could stay at Eben-Ezer for a few days. Pastor Moz let him, though some congregants left in protest. He ended up staying for five years.

On a typical day, the bakery makes $80 to $100, most of which pays for the next day’s supplies. The remainder is divided between the workers, each of whom takes home four or five dollars, seven on a good day. October 19th 2017 was not a good day. Police raided the bakery and arrested five workers for “illegal associations”, a catch-all charge used to net gang members. It didn’t matter that the men insisted they had left Barrio 18. “In the eyes of most Salvadorans, they’re all the same,” says Jeanne Rikkers, an American human-rights activist who has worked in El Salvador for two decades. Mauricio Ramírez Landaverde, the security minister, admits that Salvadoran law doesn’t distinguish between current and former gang members.

Repression has dominated the government’s response to gangs. Until the so-called anti-gang law was declared unconstitutional in 2004, police could throw suspects in jail just for having tattoos. The prison population exploded from 7,754 prisoners in 2000 to more than 35,000 in 2017, a third of whom have never been charged. Without rehabilitation programmes or sufficient space to house the inmates, who are caged scores to a cell like animals, penitentiaries became “crime schools”, admits the current prisons director, Marco Tulio Lima. A kid who enters with loose gang ties comes out a hardened criminal.

For roughly a year beginning in March 2012 the government convinced the gangs to stop killing each other. In return, gang leaders were transferred to minimum-security prisons and gang members were promised rehabilitation programmes and jobs. The truce halved the murder rate and demonstrated that, if offered an alternative, most gang members would abandon violence. But rehabilitation projects never materialised and most Salvadorans hated the idea of their government negotiating with criminals. Salacious details that emerged when the truce began to unravel, including the presence of flat-screen TVs, naked dancers and thousands of boxes of fried chicken in the prisons, made further dialogue with gangs politically impossible.

Since mid-2013 the government has doubled down on its mano dura (“hard hand”) approach, avoiding any appearance of sympathy. A “Rehabilitation and Reintegration” bill has languished for eight years in the legislative assembly. The US Treasury has designated MS-13 a terrorist organisation, making any dealings with the gang a federal crime. Exemptions are possible, but few Salvadoran institutions have expressed interest in working with former recruits. Only one firm, a factory called League that makes clothing for American universities, has a policy of hiring them. For ex-gangsters, baking is about as good as it gets.

More than a thousand of the 1,300 prisoners in Gotera have renounced their gang ties and declared themselves born-again Christians. Last year the prison director, Oscar Benavides, introduced a rehabilitation programme called Yo Cambio (“I change”). On a Thursday afternoon in December, prisoners in cheerily coloured cells demonstrated “productive activities” that will in theory allow them to support themselves after leaving prison: weaving hammocks, mending boxer shorts, building plywood shelves, stamping T-shirts with “Jesus Saves”. The most coveted class was English. “Good afternoon,” chimed 30 men--some with tattoos of demons on their faces and scalps--who were squeezed into child-sized desks.

On the other side of the building, 250-odd prisoners who refused to quit the gang were living under lockdown, crammed into a single garbage-infested cell about the size of a tennis court. Every day one or two convert, Benavides said. (Divine inspiration may have less to do with it than the fact that, as a Christian, you can leave your cell and use a bathroom with a door.)

The legacy of the exodus depends on the fate of these men once they get out. The current residents of Eben-Ezer church recently painted the walls, stuck a door on the shower and started a collection fund for security cameras (to give the men a heads-up next time the police barge in). Gómez is looking for a bigger space. As it stands, the Eben-Ezer church can accommodate only a fraction of the Last Trumpet members who are being released. “The government may have created a pathway with the state of emergency, but it forgot to create an exit,” Moz says.

The Last Trumpet has also lost members: a man who couldn’t resist returning to his hometown and two weeks later turned up dead; Julio Marroquín, who started selling sweets in San Salvador’s central market but landed back in jail after someone spotted his tattoos under layers of make-up; Carlos Montano, the pastor who led the mass exodus in the Gotera prison but couldn’t keep off drugs once he was released.

One recent departure was a young convert named Josef, who left the church after police detained him twice while he was baking and selling bread. When Barrio 18 members ambushed nine police officers on February 2nd, the government tried to frame him. The police chief told reporters he’d fled from a stash house and grabbed a six-year-old to use as a human shield. Two days later, the chief admitted that this “preliminary version” of events was false. Josef claims he had been nowhere near the crime scene.

On the afternoon of the ambush, as the sky turned pink and the wailing sirens died down, the men from the Colonia Dina dropped off their empty bread-baskets and picked up their Bibles. They piled into a minivan and headed to an empty lot. Police were swarming, but they had been planning for weeks to host an evangelisation campaign to reassure local families that their conversions to Christianity were genuine, and to encourage young Barrio 18 members to attend church services. Only a few families showed up, but they sang, prayed and talked until the sky was dark.

“We understand that people aren’t going to change their minds about us overnight,” Gómez says. The question facing El Salvador in the long term isn’t whether an individual gang member can change, but whether society will create the conditions to make such change sustainable. “A lot of people wonder how our story will end,” says Moz.

[gossipnetwork-blog]

How a 12-Year-Old Girl Could Help End Weed Prohibition

New Post has been published on http://gossip.network/how-a-12-year-old-girl-could-help-end-weed-prohibition/

How a 12-Year-Old Girl Could Help End Weed Prohibition

Twelve-year-old Alexis Bortell uses a cannabis oil called Haleigh’s Hope to prevent life-threatening epileptic seizures. She takes the oil orally by syringe twice a day, and always keeps a THC spray on hand in case she experiences an aura, or pre-seizure event. The auras happen maybe once every three to four weeks – far less often now that she moved to Colorado than when she lived in Texas. When doctors in Texas were left with no other option than to suggest an experimental lobotomy, her parents moved to Colorado. Cannabis had to be better than removing a portion of Bortell’s brain.

“I’m now over two years seizure-free because of my cannabis medicine. In Texas, our goal was three days, [and] that’s the max I ever got,” says Bortell, who’s now in the sixth grade. “It’s helped me succeed in school more, since I don’t have to go to the nurse every day because of auras and seizures. There was no medicine in Texas that would stop my seizures, and not only that, but they had horrendous side effects that would be worse than the actual seizure.”

Wise and articulate beyond her years, Bortell received an invitation from the National Organization for the Reform of Marijuana Laws (NORML) to lobby her representatives in Washington D.C. this past September. But she couldn’t go, and instead could only Skype: Since Bortell can’t go anywhere without her cannabis medicine, she couldn’t travel without committing a federal felony by transporting a Schedule I narcotic across state lines. What’s more, even if she could travel to D.C. – where marijuana is medically and recreationally legal – she can’t bring her medicine onto federal land, including the Capitol, national parks, monuments and military bases. (Her father, Dean Bortell, is military vet.)

Now Bortell is one of five plaintiffs in a lawsuit against the federal government, and her attorneys argue that the Controlled Substances Act (CSA), which classifies cannabis as illegal, infringes upon various constitutional rights.

“This is not just a case about the CSA. This is a civil rights case that focuses on the rights of individuals using life-saving medication to preserve their lives and health,” says Bortell’s attorney, Michael Hiller, founder of Hiller PC and former professor of constitutional law at John Jay College of Criminal Justice. “It’s not just about cannabis, it’s about people’s ability to exercise their rights to free speech, to petition the government for a redress of grievances under the First Amendment, the right to travel, the fundamental right to be left alone and the right against Congressional overreach.”

The federal cannabis lawsuit team – co-counsel Michael Hiller, Lauren Rudick, Joseph Bondy, and David Holland – filed a complaint in September to the United States District Court for the Southern District of New York. The lawyers – who are all members of the New York Cannabis Bar Association – are working on the case pro bono in hopes of winning a watershed decision descheduling marijuana under federal law.

Alexis Bortell and her father, Dean. David Zalubowski/AP

As the federal government is wont to do, the defendants — Jeff Sessions, the Department of Justice, Chuck Rosenberg, acting director of the Drug Enforcement Administration, the DEA itself and finally, the United States of America – will file a motion to dismiss on October 13th. If the judge grants the motion, the plaintiffs will file an appeal to the Second Circuit.

The case could have ramifications throughout the country. “If the court were to grant our relief, requesting a declaration that the CSA is unconstitutional as applied and enjoining the federal government from enforcing it, the case really has the potential to impact tens of millions of people,” says Hiller.

As a plaintiff, Bortell represents the thousands of children with epilepsy who stand to benefit from descheduling cannabis. But even broader applications and interests are at stake. Co-plaintiffs include six-year-old Jagger Cotte, a Georgia-based medical marijuana patient who suffers from Leigh’s Disease, which disables and kills 95 percent of its victims; Jose Belen, a disabled veteran of two tours in Iraq now living with PTSD in Florida; Marvin Washington, former pro football player, who’s now launched a line of CBD products; and the Cannabis Cultural Association, a nonprofit helping people of color enter in the cannabis industry.

The attorneys argue not only that the CSA infringes on the plaintiffs’ constitutional rights, but that the foundation of marijuana’s place under CSA itself is bunk. “The whole explanation for why it’s a Schedule I substance is predicated on lies and racism,” says Holland, executive and legal director of Empire State NORML and former counsel to High Times Magazine.

In their complaint, the attorneys allude to the past 10,000 years of history, highlighting the various ways in which mankind has used cannabis medicinally and functionally. Fast forward to the Eighteenth and Nineteenth centuries, the founding fathers wrote the Constitution on hemp paper, while pharmacists sold marijuana tinctures over the counter. (Marijuana and hemp, both different kinds of cannabis, are distinguished by their THC value.) By the 1920s and 1930s, cannabis became more closely associated with Mexican immigrants and African American jazz musicians. In 1937, Federal Bureau of Narcotics Director Harry Anslinger drafted the Marihuana Tax Act, imposing criminal penalties on the possession, production, and sale of cannabis, and commencing the modern day War on Drugs.

By the 1960s and 70s, cannabis became the common denominator between Vietnam war protestors and radical groups like the Black Panthers. Nixon’s own right-hand man John Ehrlichman came out decades later explaining that criminalizing marijuana was a means of criminalizing blacks and hippies: “Did we know we were lying about the drugs? Of course we did.”

When the CSA was enacted in 1971, marijuana was placed in Schedule I only “temporarily,” even though by definition it didn’t fit the category. Today, blacks and Latinos are still disproportionately victimized by prohibition. Even in places like Colorado, more minority kids are arrested for weed than anyone else, while in California, police arrest blacks for weed three and a half times more than whites. “We’ve always had the federal government policing our bodies,” says Jacob Plowden, co-founder and creative director of the Cannabis Cultural Association. And even legalization hasn’t always worked, he adds. This case is the only way to turn the system on its head.

“What is deeply troubling about all of this is that the CSA makes absolutely no sense,” says Hiller. “We know for a fact that the U.S. government knows that cannabis cannot be legally classified as a Schedule I drug, the requirements for which are a high potential for abuse, no medical efficacy whatsoever, and a substance so dangerous that it can’t be tested even under strict medical supervision. And we know cannabis doesn’t meet those requirements.”

Attorney General Jeff Sessions – who has threatened to crack down on state-legal medical marijuana – is named as a defendant in the lawsuit. Andrew Harnik/AP

As Hiller points out, there is a disconnect between what the government claims legally, and how they actually operate. The government has a patent on cannabis for the treatment of diseases like Parkinson’s, Alzheimer’s, HIV-induced dementia and autoimmune disorders. And under U.S. patent law, you can’t apply for a patent unless you can demonstrate some form of the utility of whatever you’re seeking a patent for. “The government has obtained a patent for cannabis based on the fact that it works,” says Hiller. Moreover, since 1978, the federal government has been sending joints to medical patients as part of an IND (Investigational New Drug) program, only to find that cannabis alleviated symptoms for these 15 participants without serious side effects.

Then in 2014, the Department of Treasury issued a FinCEN guidance to banks, advising them on how to work with cannabis businesses. Meanwhile, 29 states and three territories all allow some form of cannabis to be used medicinally or recreationally – meaning more than 60 percent of the population has access to this plant. “It just makes no sense for the government to classify cannabis as a drug that’s so dangerous that it can’t even be safely tested, while at the same time encouraging companies to do business with cannabis businesses,” says Hiller. “It makes no sense for the Federal Government to have a medical patent and to distribute cannabis to patients for nearly 40 years through the IND Program, while at the same time claiming that it has no medical efficacy and can cause brain damage. Ask the federal government, ‘Do you really believe it?’ and the fact of the matter is, they don’t.”

As with same-sex marriage, Hiller says, if the federal government had to defend cannabis prohibition on facts, they’d lose.

“This lawsuit represents the truth,” says Bondy, a criminal defense attorney who is an expert in federal cannabis law. “Marijuana has a recognized medical purpose. For the government to persist in the position that it doesn’t is foolish.”

No matter who wins the case, it’s a sure bet that the losing party will appeal, according to Bondy. “These issues are so important to the public interest, so important to constitutional safeguards that a full evidentiary record has to be made. We welcome this as an opportunity to demonstrate fully and fairly that we are right.”

Meanwhile, Alexis Bortell still must choose between breaking the law and preserving her own life. “Every time I look around my classroom, I think about what my classmates will be when we grow up. But there’s nothing I can be because the government thinks I’m bad,” she says. “I know they’re wrong. I do hope we can win this case. If that happens, maybe I can be a doctor, or if I need to, run for legislature.” 

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The First 100 Days of Resistance, the 100th Anniversary of 10 Days that Shook the World

SUMMING UP: The First 100 Days of Resistance, the 100th Anniversary of 10 Days that Shook the World

by Michael Novick, Anti-Racist Action-Los Angeles/People Against Racist Terror (ARA-LA/PART)

    Anniversaries are appropriate for gauging where we stand, how far we've come and what remains to be done. The media are replete with assessments of the "first 100 days" of the Trump regime, which coincidentally falls on the 25th anniversary of the 1992 LA Rebellion. 2017 also marks the 100th anniversary of the Russian Revolutions of March and October (Nov. on the current calendar) 1917 and the conclusion of the Mexican Revolution that year.

    So it's appropriate to assess what we've accomplished in the first 100 days of resistance to Trump, and where our movements are on the path toward the revolution that will be necessary to truly resist fascism and build a world free of exploitation, oppression, and environmental devastation.

    A sober estimate isn't encouraging. Far more people take to the streets to demand Trump's tax returns or defend science than turn out to oppose US war in Syria or Korea. Although the Women's Marches were huge, they did not disrupt the inaugural, make the US ungovernable, or lead to ongoing organizing. There's no US equivalent to the millions of South Koreans who toppled their president. The wave of airport protests and disruptions that met Trump's first Muslim ban lapsed into a reliance on the courts and elected officials by the second iteration of the ban. The mass base of the Democrats are more inclined to defend Obamacare than demand single payer health care.

    Police around the country are killing more people than ever, while intensifying surveillance and "psychological operations" of pacification via community-oriented policing supported by elected officials, oversight bodies and non-profits. Immigrant rights and organized labor groupings remain dominated by reformist politics even on May Day -- the General Strike called for by some is unlikely to last more than a day, and the largest rallies were dominated by business unions and Democratic Party functionaries and officials.

    Environmentalists haven't stopped DAPL of Keystone XL or Trump's latest attack on public lands. The growth of antifa forces in the US is uneven, and in southern CA not at all commensurate with the racist right radicalization of Trump supporters via MAGA marches, new nazi bonehead groups, and formations that seek to merge them, like William D. Johnson's American Freedom Party.

    This is perhaps unsurprising, because even at its strongest and most coherent, resistance tends to be reactive rather than proactive. It allows Trump and his Wall Street and white nationalist allies and backers to set the pace and terms of engagement. Real resistance is necessary but not sufficient; and real resistance is in short supply. As Bill McKibben of 350.org characterized it, "weekends are for fighting tyranny." Unfortunately, while people gear up for a steady diet of weekend marches and protests (and even the occasional weekday, like May 1), the rulers and their henchmen are working 24/7 365 days a year to attack and criminalize Mexicans, migrants, Muslims, and dissidents, to privatize or throttle public services, and to open up new lands and seas to "resource extraction." The state, in addition to resting on special bodies of armed men, consists of tens of thousands of cadres paid to brainstorm scenarios for controlling and exploiting millions of people.

    In Nuestra America, US imperialism and its reactionary allies in local ruling and middle classes are on the offensive against the "pink tide" of social democratic welfare state governments, especially in Venezuela and Brazil, where non-governmental grassroots organizations are also on the defensive. In Africa, the NATO overthrow of Ghaddafi in Libya has led to open slave markets in that country; South Africa under the ANC is shackled by neo-liberalism, and every country but Eritrea and Zimbabwe has US troops stationed. Chinese, Saudi and other capitalist are buying up massive tracts of land. In Asia/Pacific, Trump claimed to send  an 'armada' to threaten Korea (which turned out to be heading to Australia instead) and again considered the use of nuclear weapons. Countries liberated at enormous cost, like Vietnam, have been incorporated into the global capitalist market.

    But the insurmountable and irreconcilable social, economic and political contradictions of the Empire mean that all these situations produce a tinder-box for a potential revolutionary explosion, just as the first World War period saw the Mexican and Russian Revolutions and WWII led to the creation of a (state) socialist camp, the Chinese Revolution and an era of national liberation struggles for decolonization that threatened imperialism.

    Even after organized revolutionary nationalist struggles inside the US subsided, people remained capable of explosive, sustained resistance, requiring massive fire-power to suppress. Larry Goldzband reminisced to the LA Times about the 1992 Rebellion. “As a member of Gov. Wilson’s staff, I flew down to L.A. with him on the afternoon of the second day of the riots after Mayor Bradley asked him to send in the National Guard. After sunset we used helicopter gunships without running lights to get to Parker Center to avoid the kind of gunfire that had closed LAX. There, Gov. Wilson convened the first meeting ever, from our understanding, of the mayor, chief of police, president of the Board of Supervisors, and the sheriff. Soon after, Wilson asked President Bush to supplement the Guard with active-duty troops.” (Emphasis added). An LA Times poll showed 60% think a new rebellion is possible today, a sharp increase.

    What do we have to shift the balance of power in favor of the popular forces? First of all, we must expand beyond the concept of resistance alone, to embrace solidarity -- recognition of and support for the self-determination of colonized and oppressed people -- and liberation -- the affirmative, pro-active goal of a different and better world.

    Second, we must be self-critical. The state and the right learned lessons from the threats they faced in the 1960s-70s better than the left did from our ultimate failures during that period. We must break with white and male supremacy, elitism, small group mentality, organizational chauvinism and sectarianism, and with the identification with (and as) the oppressor that still plagues the so-called left. The so-called post left of anarchists and anti-authoritarians is not immune from the same errors of Euro-centrism, workerism or reduction of struggles against racism, sexism and colonialism to purely psychological or cultural issues, as opposed to profound and fundamental material concerns.

    We must figure out how to transform the contradictions bedeviling imperialism into the unity of revolutionary forces, and their rootedness in the people who form the irrepressible base of sustained resistance, solidarity, and liberation struggle. Some key contradictions of the 1960s-70s favorable to popular struggle -- between imperialism and the socialist camp, between colonial powers and national liberation forces in the Third World -- no longer exist in the same form. But the underlying contradiction between the working classes and the ruling class, between imperialism and colonized and oppressed people, between capitalism and planetary survival, are stronger than ever. We must deepen people's understanding that our hope and future lies in the unity of the oppressed and exploited, and that the power of the people is greater than the man's technology.

    So we must embrace a different, more practical and sustained approach to 'organizing' -- not just winning new recruits to our particular organization or line, but developing a deep-rooted, organic relationship of revolutionary-minded cadre with the masses of people who alone can make revolution. Community defense is a key part of this; so are the "pre-figurative" non-commodity production of food and services such as health care, education, etc.

    Gauging our first 100 days of resistance against this standard makes it clear that we have not just a long way to go, but a practical need for step-by-step planning and coordination to move us from where we are closer to where we need to be. To build a revolutionary movement, we need to engage, with  others, in struggles to transform, not merely reform, the institutions of this imperial, settler colonial society. That process of transformation can most easily and effectively begin by transforming our movement, our work and our identities and practice through study, struggle and attentive engagement with poor and working people, forming and sustaining communities of solidarity, resistance and liberation.

{The above is an expanded version of a perspective that appears in the current May-June 2017 issue of Turning The Tide: Journal of Inter-communal Solidarity.

See www.antiracist.org