#others say to let men ��figure themselves out.’ what???? how do you think radicalization and deradicalization work???? | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

mcustorm · 4 years ago

Text

In Defense of a Black Cyclops

In case my username didn’t make it clear, the single most anticipated visual project for me is the MCU’s interpretation of the X-Men, which hasn’t even been announced yet [officially]. And ladies and gents, I have found your Cyclops:

Good ol’ Alfred Enoch, who we all know from Harry Potter and How to Get Away With Murder. If you’re not familiar with HTGAWM, know that his character goes from the de facto leader of the ragtag (murderers) and most cherished protege of Viola Davis’ Professor X to taking more of a grimdark turn after his girlfriend’s death. Sound at least somewhat familiar?

Enoch also embodies the physicality of the character well, seeing as to how he’s “slim”, 6′4(!!), black, and notoriously lanky. Wait, one of these isn’t like the others.

In general I hate fancasting. Everyone generally picks from the same pool of about 30 actors (Peeps, neither Taron nor Daniel is a good Wolverine choice. Argue with your mother!), and most all of it is based on physicality, except when it absolutely should be (like say, choosing a ~5′10 dark-skinned black woman for Storm).

And I think there’s some malarkey afoot. I think there needs to be some serious consideration on part of fancasters and actual casting agents alike to rethink race when it comes to the [white] X-Men, especially since they’re the X-Men of all teams. So I’ll make the case for a black Cyclops:

1. There is no quota on Black X-Men: There’s a bug in your ear that’s been whispering lies to you for years, it says something to the effect of “We need a black person on the team for diversity. How bout Storm?” And you’ve gotten complacent. Storm does not have to be the only black person on your X-Men roster.

2. The X-Men represent diversity: Iceman is gay, Cyclops and Prof. X are disabled (sorta), there are plenty of women, oh and everybody except Storm is white. Of the A-List X-Men, there is only *one* POC character. I’d argue that an MCU X-Men needs to champion diversity like never before.

3. The X-Men represent minority struggle while being mostly white: There’s a cognitive dissonance in the metaphor that has always been there, and for the most part, nobody cares. To appeal to the white readers of the 60′s, the X-Men were all initially white. That way, the message of the mutants could be related to the audience with a familiar face. We don’t need to approach the problem that way in 202?

4. Just because that’s the way it’s always been, doesn’t mean that’s the way it should be: The first line of defense. Sorry, that will never be a good justification for literally any idea. It’s time for some more critical thinking.

5. We don’t all want to be Bishop: So say you’re white and you have a kid who for his birthday having a costume party. You’ve bought some X-Men costumes and you want each kid to pick one. 9 white kids and one black kid show up to your house. As the kids deliberate who gets what costume, be it Cyke or Wolvie or whatever, you yell at everybody to “STOP!”, point to the one black kid and tell him “You’re gonna be Bishop. That’s it, end of story!”

We don’t all want to be Bishop. The black child could have the best Cyclops interpretation within him, but you’ll never know if you don’t let him try. And that’s no different from the Black actors of Hollywood. There’s no reason why all of the black talent should *have* to compete for the role of Bishop or Storm, which I’ve discussed, while Joe Schmo can walk up and audition for literally anybody he wants.

Jharrel Jerome is 23 and has an Emmy to his name. He needs to be in the MCU in some capacity, period. Stephan James is another. How bout Damson Idris. Ashton Sanders. But no, no, let’s fancast Dacre Montgomery or Ansel or Joe Keery again as [Human Torch, Wolverine, Iceman, Angel, I’ve literally seen it all.]

6. Nobody wants to see the B-team if it comes down to it. The next line of defense from your racebending naysayers after “That’s the way it’s always been!” is “Well, what about Psylocke, Bishop, Forge and Jubilee?” who are otherwise known as B-tier X-Men. The problem is, we’ve got limited time and limited spots.

So since the X-Men is all about wonky metaphors that make half sense, let me give you another: Let’s say somebody approaches you and says “Hey buddy, I got two free concert tickets for ya! You can either see Michael Jackson Sings the Blues, or you can go see Justin Timberlake. Free of charge!”

Now, are you used to MJ singing the blues? No! Do you have a problem with going to see Justin Timberlake? No, he’s fine on a Wednesday! He had that one little diddy we liked that one time. We’d love to see him eventually! But are you gonna say, “fuck that, I’m going to see MJ Sings the Blues” regardless? Hell yes, because that’s still Michael Jackson. He’s gonna give the same amazing performance he always does, it’s just gonna be the blues. And speaking of blues...

7. Black is not Blue, Brown is not Blue: Raise your hand if you’ve ever heard this one: “I don’t care if you’re black, white, purple, or green, I’m going to treat you all the same!” I will not say all have this intention, but some fancasters have noticed that the racial diversity is kinda low within the A-List X-Men, so they oh-so-generously give the following roles to a black or brown person: Iceman, Nightcrawler, Beast.

Notice the pattern? It’s a microaggression, and it’s bullshit. What these fancasters are implicitly telling you is that, yes the actors will be black or brown, but when the action starts we can ignore that. They’ll be blue by then. In other words, you in fact do care if they’re purple or green. Nobody will cry foul if Dev Patel gets to play Nightcrawler (because that’s a common one I see), but should Anna Diop be Starfire or Michael B. Jordan be Human Torch, I bet there’d be backlash. Oh wait. If that’s you, please stop acting like you actually value diversity. You don’t want to see black or brown skin, period. Unless of course, it’s Storm (refer to point #1).

But wait, there’s more! When brown characters get whitewashed in these movies, it’s crickets! So eventually it’s revealed implicitly that proclaimers of point #4 only care about it one way.

8. Professor X should not be black if you’re not willing to change anyone else: The next line of defense is that some people say the professor should be black, if anybody HAS to be racebent. Something something MLK Jr., Civil Rights or some shit. Number one, I’m not reducing Professor X to being a magical negro for 9 white people (and Storm!) who for all intents and purposes get to have all the action. Number 2, the Professor X/MLK/Magneto/Malcolm X comparison is an oversimplifying disservice to ALL FOUR of those people. I hate that line whenever I see it, please watch a documentary my friends.

9. The Candidates for Racebending: For me, the A-List X-Men are Cyclops, Jean Grey, Iceman, Angel, Beast, Wolverine, Storm, Gambit, Rogue, Colossus, Nightcrawler, and Kitty Pryde. Now, who should be exempt from the racebending? Storm, she’s our designated minority. Gambit, he’s Cajun and they’re white (generally speaking, that’s a fun bit of research). Wolverine, Colossus, and Nightcrawler, because their nationality/ethnicity was the whole point of the Giant-Size premise in the first place. Angel, because his character embodies a privileged white male. Beast and Iceman, I don’t care one way or another (Point #7).

That leaves Cyclops, Rogue, Jean Grey, and Kitty Pryde. Now Jean Grey is a redhead, and we all know that every time a redhead is racebent people sharpen their pitchforks (Mary Jane, Wally West, Iris West), so I will cede the ground on Jean if only so that my ginger friends can get their rep. Kitty Pryde is Jewish, but Jews of color exist. Rogue is from the South. And Cyclops is, well, just Cyclops. That makes those three characters good options for more diversity. But allow me to make the case for Cyclops, specifically.

10. It’s not just diversity for diversity’s sake: If you had to pick who the main character of the X-Men is supposed to be, most would say Cyclops. And so in a series that highlights racial discrimination in society, it makes sense that our main character be black. While changing Cyclops’ skin color should not change who he is as a character, it *should* recontextualize it. Now, as an eventual increasingly radical leader of the X-Men, Cyclops would evoke real life figures such as Colin Kaepernick or, shall I say, Martin Luther King, Jr.

Not that most X-Men fans and writers truly think about what it means to be black anyways. Storm’s minority status is almost always put through the lens of her being a mutant and not her being a black woman. In other words, you can’t argue that making a character black will fundamentally change his or her character when you haven’t even analyzed the racial context of the black character(s) you already have. Another concept that the MCU X-Men should tackle: intersectionality.

11. Representation matters: I have to say it: Chadwick Boseman’s Black Panther hit different. And now he is tragically gone. At the end of the day, the MCU moving forward is down its most prominent black male superhero. Which has implications beyond just the movies themselves.

The women are in good hands. Shuri, Okoye, and Nakia are badasses in Wakanda, Valkyrie is ruling Asgard, Storm is almost assuredly on the way, RiRi Williams has already been cast, and Monica Rambeau is here and she’s not even at her most glorious yet. That doesn’t even include variable Δ, or the number of characters who can and will be racebent. And I’ll note again that to me, Gamora doesn’t count, because she’s green (#7 really pisses me off because it’s so blatant. I hate it). Of course from a behind the camera perspective we love black women getting work.

The men are a completely different story. Imma just go out and say it, I can’t stand Falcon and War Machine [in the MCU] because they’re not characters, they’re just two of a slew of MCU minority sidekicks who have essentially been at the beck and call of Captain America and Iron Man, respectively. You cannot tell Falcon’s story without mentioning Cap. The reverse is not true. There’s a whole essay that could be and have been written on “Minorities in the MCU, pre-Black Panther”. Remember, there’s a reason BP made so much noise in the first place.

So excluding those two we have, let’s see, M’Baku, Blade, and Fury who aren’t exactly the most superheroic superheroes, Eli Bradley is proooobably coming, I doubt Miles Morales is coming (because he’s just Peter Parker in the MCU), Luke Cage(?) Bishop(??), Sunspot(???), Blue Marvel(????). Not only are they not A-List, I would not put money on any of them being in the MCU any time soon.

Cyclops is thee Captain America of the X-Men. He’s the frontman. He’s the poster boy. He’s the “boy scout”, which in other words means he’s the hero, if there has to be one. It would mean a lot right now, and specifically *right now*, if he were to be black. The MCU needs it. It NEEDS it.

12. The X-Men is the Summers Story: I’ll even make the case that if just one character needs to racebent, then it should be Cyclops, because that of course implies that other related characters need to be black because half of the X-Men universe is in fact a part of the Summers family.

So now Cable is black. Corsair is black. Havok is black. And one of the most central stories in the X-Men mythos, the Summers family drama, is now a black family drama set in space or the future or where the fuck ever. The concept is boundary pushing. When white families have drama in the media, it gets to be Game of Thrones or Star Wars, while when black families have drama in the media, it has to be black people arguing in a kitchen or living room about their various earthly traumas (I’m @’ing you, Mr. Perry). I mean, that’s all fine and good often times, but I want my black family drama in space, dammit.

And again, this is the X-Men, the series that’s all about *minorities* and their struggle, so again, why not?

Oh, and I’ll even throw out a Havok fancast for you: How bout Jharrel Jerome?

#cyclops #scott summers #the mutants #monica rambeau #X-men #xmen #marvel #MCU #fancast #jharrel would actually be a better sunspot #but you get the point #my man would have OPTIONS

195 notes · View notes

cto10121 · 3 years ago

Text

Does R&J Play With Gender Stereotypes?

So I came across this piece of meta by @hamliet that rather intrigued me:

There’s also another layer here: the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine. Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one. That’s the first thing Juliet declares to Romeo in the balcony scene: that she will always be loyal, and she shows this in every choice she makes in the story.

Let’s break this down.

“the imagery Romeo uses for Juliet (the sun) and that Juliet uses for Romeo (the moon) is the inverse of how imagery was typically presented in those days. The moon was feminine; the sun, masculine.”

Romeo does indeed call Juliet the sun, but Juliet never calls Romeo the moon—or likens him with anything symbolically feminine, come to think of it. The closest she or the play gets is a small but clear association with night: Romeo has “night’s cloak to hide me from their eyes” and Juliet implores “loving, black-browed” night to give her her Romeo. Even then it is so that he can “make the face of heaven so fine / That all the world will be in love with night / And pay no worship to the garish sun.”

Instead, Juliet consistently uses the same love language of authority as Romeo does with her, calling him her lord, husband, knight, “day-in-night,” “mansion of a love,” “god of my idolatry,” and, (my particular favorite), “tassel-gentle” or “falcon.” “Pilgrim” is the lowest social rank she uses, but of course she is following Romeo’s pilgrim-and-saints flirtation and its wink-wink bilingual allusion to his name. Romeo’s use of “sun,” then, could be viewed in the context of both lovers conferring cosmic/earthly authority, beauty, ownership, and sovereignty to each other—the Elizabethan equivalent of calling each other wife/husband. And of course they begin doing that immediately after they marry.

Even if we look at Romeo and Juliet’s respective character traits, Romeo is the flighty, impulsive, love-struck one who cries all the time, while Juliet is the decisive, bold, and loyal one.

Definitely not. Romeo is plenty decisive and bold—making the first move in wooing Juliet, climbing the orchard wall, showing himself to Juliet, immediately agreeing to marry her, nearly killing himself when he thinks Juliet might not take him back and, er, actually killing himself for her. I wouldn’t say he is impulsive, either—though he makes decisions fairly quickly, it is almost always with some deliberation beforehand (“Can I go forward when my heart is here?” “Shall I hear more or shall I speak at this?” and his monologue after Mercutio’s exit) and of course there are instances in which he restrains himself (“I am too bold” and his monologue after Mercutio’s death). The most accurate description of Romeo is that he is a risk taker—at least when he is well and truly motivated. And even then it does not rob his deliberation or even his wits.

He is also not flighty. In fact, he proves just as loyal as Juliet—as soon as he meets her, he forgets about Rosaline and leaves her clear behind. He doesn’t once waver in his conviction that Juliet is for him and makes plans to die with her (and does!). His love for Rosaline is clearly framed by the narrative as shallow, performative, and passive, and the verse bears this out. He was never in any kind of relationship with Rosaline—his love was an unrequited crush that he was at perfectly liberty to have ditched, frankly. After that, it’s Juliet, Juliet, Juliet until he dies.

Also, once more, Romeo is no crybaby. He explicitly cries a total of two times—one even before the events of the play, when he pines over Rosaline under a grove of sycamore, and another when he’s 1) seen Mercutio get mortally wounded, 2) killed Tybalt, 3) learned that he is banished from the city, and 4) mistakenly believed that Juliet no longer wants him (the Nurse’s reply is vague enough to be misinterpreted); at the very least he is devastated to have been the cause of her pain. Anyone would break down in those circumstances. Juliet herself breaks down on hearing the news and arguably is more verbally vehement than Romeo—namely, that even the words “Romeo is banishèd” are worse than if herself, Romeo, her parents, and Tybalt were dead. She ends that monologue with a passive suicide threat: “And Death, not Romeo, take my maidenhead!” How anyone can argue Juliet isn’t as lovestruck as Romeo is beyond me.

What Shakespeare was most likely aiming for was showing the mutuality of R&J’s love with parallel scenes and even language. Both have chances to act strong, decisive, and bold, both show vulnerability and great emotion and passion, both are lovestruck. Both demonstrate so-called “masculine” and “feminine” traits, which is almost always culturally-and time-based, anyway. There are only a few key differences between the two—almost all of the above traits, however, they both share. It’s almost as if…Shakespeare understood that no man or woman had all masculine or all feminine traits.

Moving on to the conclusion:

In other words, Shakespeare was deliberately playing with gender and its stereotypes in the play, which gains an even more interesting layer to it when you consider that Shakespeare was himself almost certainly bisexual (his sonnets are preeeetty explicit). It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society. And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

You just opened up 200+ years of fandom wank, OP. I’ll just do a quick sum-up.

The Sonnets are a complete mess. They are contradictory as hell, there is clearly more than one persona speaking, there is evidence that Shakespeare edited and revised them, evidence they were published with his permission, quite a few sonnets are based on pre-existing sources, and, most damnably of all, none of the most likely candidates for the so-called Fair Youth and Dark Lady fit the narrative of the Sonnets perfectly or even satisfactorily—if there is even a clear narrative to these things to begin with. Sonnets were artificial works whose clichés and conventions were heavily satirized in Shakespeare’s own works—Berowne’s own rant-y sonnet swearing he would never believe in love sonnets comes most readily to mind. They were usually not meant to denote an actual real-life relationship, although there was a kind of “game” in trying to figure out which parts are true and which ones fiction. At least one sonnet sequence had a completely fictional addressee (Fulke Greville, I think).

Shakespeare’s sonnets do break a lot of these rules and conventions, and radically, and as they seem to have been compiled over many years, they lend themselves to autobiographical speculation. But, as a bit of a poet myself, I feel this: No one writes 154 sonnets—plus a whole narrative poem!—to one lover or even multiple lovers. Poetry is much less personal than laypeople think. Outside the sonnets, Shakespeare is not linked to any man romantically, and, besides his wife, only to two women (unnamed citizen’s wife and Jane Devanant).

Even if we assume Shakespeare’s bi, though, that doesn’t mean R&J is a queer narrative, which brings us to…

It’s not a patriarchal narrative; it can well be seen as a queer narrative in a patriarchal society.

A queer narrative that has its lovers express their love through the language of heterosexual marriage (husband, lord, wife, lady, pilgrim/saint), and commit suicide by a chalice-and-blade symbolism that mimics heterosexual sex (Romeo drinking a “cup” of poison and Juliet stabbing herself with Romeo’s dagger. Freud couldn’t have done it better). If Shakespeare was thinking “gay allegory!!!” he would have had to at least change or erase the symbolism (straight coding?) of the double suicide, or have Juliet attribute to Romeo explicitly feminine imagery. He would have to have done some major plot rejiggering. He would have had to, in short, change the whole story.

(Unless by “queer narrative” you mean “anything that has an emotionally constipated male lead who doesn’t growl sexily and a female lead who doesn’t cry/faint at the drop of a hat.” That’d be most every narrative, lol.)

Also, I’m hard-pressed to think of love romances that are 100% patriarchal narratives, and those that do (Casablanca, maybe?) are not really true ones, anyway. Patriarchy inherently opposes all romances of love and sex, including heterosexual. It demands that men be raised as soldiers to kill enemies, slaughtered, and discarded, and women as chattel and land to be bought and sold. Marriage was that transferral of property. Having children is necessary, not out of love and care for them, but to propagate the species and create even more future warriors and womb incubators. It grudgingly accepts only (mostly straight and like maybe 1 or 2 gay) love narratives that can be subsumed into this narrow paradigm, but the tension of interpretation is always present. Ideally, it prefers to ignore, diminish, scorn and mock, or even suppress them. I suspect most people’s problems and discomfort with R&J stem from this pathology, this deep-seated unease over anything that touches on human experience patriarchy can’t quite control or subsume.

Shakespeare was obviously no lover of patriarchy (in his personal life, though…well, it’s debatable). His plays resist it greatly to various degrees, and R&J is no exception. R&J hews much closer to the reality of heterosexual love and love in general, which are informed by, though are not inherently tied to, patriarchy (as are gay relationships, sadly). Shakespeare is just being a good writer in throwing most of that rotten apple away; it doesn’t apply to what he was trying to do, anyway. R&J’s challenge to patriarchy, though, is heterosexual in nature.

And it shouldn’t take two kids having to kill themselves to get society to realize how effed up it is. It isn’t an out-of-touch play, but instead one extremely relevant to our society 500+ years later.

True dat.

#romeo and juliet #shakespeare #cristina metas #rj meta #r&j meta #rj are just so boyxgirl op #accept it and you will find peace #repressive traditional gender roles are back in fashion it seems #the victorians couldn’t accept romeo as a man either and had him be played by an actress #but if we’re going to take our notions of gender from the victorians of all people well…

10 notes · View notes

letterboxd · 4 years ago

Photo

Careful How You Go.

Ella Kemp explores how film lovers can protect themselves from distressing subject matter while celebrating cinema at its most audacious.

Featuring Empire magazine editor Terri White, Test Pattern filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford, writer and critic Jourdain Searles, publicist Courtney Mayhew, and curator, activist and producer Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View collective.

This story contains discussion of rape, sexual assault, abuse, self-harm, trauma and loss of life, as well as spoilers for ‘Promising Young Woman’ and ‘A Star is Born’.

We film lovers are blessed with a medium capable of excavating real-life emotion from something seemingly fictional. Yet, for all that film is—in the oft-quoted words of Roger Ebert—an “empathy machine”, it’s also capable of deeply hurting its audience when not wielded by its makers and promoters with appropriate care. Or, for that matter, when not approached by viewers with informed caution.

Whose job is it to let us know that we might be upset by what we see? With the coronavirus pandemic decimating the communal movie-going experience, the way we accommodate each viewer’s sensibilities is more crucial than ever—especially when so many of us are watching alone, at home, often unsupported.

In order to understand how we can champion a film’s content and take care of its audience, I approached women in several areas of the movie ecosystem. I wanted to know: how does a filmmaker approach the filming of a rape and its aftermath? How does a magazine editor navigate the celebration of a potentially triggering movie in one of the world’s biggest film publications? How does a freelance writer speak to her professional interests while preserving her personal integrity? How does a women’s film collective create a safe environment for an audience to process such a film? And, how does a publicist prepare journalists for careful reporting, when their job is to get eyeballs on screens in order to keep our favorite art form afloat?

The conversations reminded me that the answers are endlessly complex. The concerns over spoilers, the effectiveness of trigger warnings, the myriad ways in which art is crafted from trauma, and the fundamental question of whose stories these are to tell. These questions were valid decades ago, they will be for decades to come, and they feel especially urgent now, since a number of recent tales helmed by female and non-binary filmmakers depict violence and trauma involving women’s bodies in fearless, often challenging ways.

Emerald Fennell’s Promising Young Woman, in particular, has revived a vital conversation about content consideration, as victims and survivors of sexual assault record wildly different reactions to its astounding ending. Shatara Michelle Ford’s quietly tense debut, Test Pattern, brings Black survivors into the conversation. And the visceral, anti-wish-fulfillment horror Violation, coming soon from Dusty Mancinelli and Madeleine Sims-Fewer, takes the rape-revenge genre up another notch.

These films come off the back of other recent survivor stories, such as Michaela Coel’s groundbreaking series I May Destroy You (which centers women’s friendship in a narrative move that, as Sarah Williams has eloquently outlined, happens too rarely in this field). Also: Kata Wéber and Kornél Mundruczó’s Pieces of a Woman, and the ongoing ugh-ness of The Handmaid’s Tale. And though this article is focused on plots centering women’s trauma, I acknowledge the myriad of stories that can be triggering in many ways for all manner of viewers. So whether you’ve watched one of these titles, or others like them, I hope you felt supported in the conversations to follow, and that you feel seen.

Weruche Opia and Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

Simply put, Promising Young Woman is a movie about a woman seeking revenge against predatory men. Except nothing about it is simple. Revenge movies have existed for aeons, and we’ve rooted for many promising young (mostly white) women before Carey Mulligan’s Cassie (recently: Jen in Coralie Fargeat’s Revenge, Noelle in Natalia Leite’s M.F.A.). But in Promising Young Woman, the victim is not alive to seek revenge, so it becomes Cassie’s single-minded crusade. Mercifully, we never see the gang-rape that sparks Cassie’s mission. But we do see a daring, fatal subversion of the notion of a happy ending—and this is what has audiences of Emerald Fennell’s jaw-dropping debut divided.

“For me, being a survivor, the point is to survive,” Jourdain Searles tells me. The New York-based critic, screenwriter, comedian—and host of Netflix’s new Black Film School series—says the presence of death in Promising Young Woman is the problem. “One of the first times I spoke openly about [my assault], I made the decision that I didn’t want to go to the police, and I got a lot of judgment for that,” she says. “So watching Promising Young Woman and seeing the police as the endgame is something I’ve always disagreed with. I left thinking, ‘How is this going to help?’”

“I feel like I’ve got two hats on,” says Terri White, the London-based editor-in chief of Empire magazine, and the author of a recently published memoir, Coming Undone. “One of which is me creating a magazine for a specific film-loving audience, and the other bit of me, which has written a book about trauma, specifically about violence perpetrated against the body. They’re not entirely siloed, but they are two distinct perspectives.”

White loved both Promising Young Woman and I May Destroy You, because they “explode the myth of resolution and redemption”. She calls the ending of Promising Young Woman “radical” in the way it speaks to the reality of what happens to so many women. “I was thinking about me and women like me, women who have endured violence and injury or trauma. Three women every week are still killed [in the UK] at the hands of an ex-partner, or somebody they know intimately, or a current partner. Statistically, any woman who goes for some kind of physical confrontation in [the way Cassie does] would end up dying.”

She adds: “I felt like the film was in service to both victims and survivors, and I use the word ‘victims’ deliberately. I call myself a victim because I think if you’ve endured either sexual violence or physical violence or both, a lot of empowering language, as far as I’m concerned, doesn’t reflect the reality of being a victim or a survivor, whichever way you choose to call yourself.” This point has been one many have disagreed on. In a way, that makes sense—no victim or survivor can be expected to speak to anyone else’s experience but their own.

Carey Mulligan and Emerald Fennell on the set of ‘Promising Young Woman’.

Likewise, there is no right or wrong way to feel about this film, or any film. But a question that arises is, well, should everyone have to see a film to figure that out? And should victims and survivors of sexual violence watch this film? “I have definitely been picky about who I’ve recommended it to,” Courtney Mayhew says. “I don’t want to put a friend in harm’s way, even if that means they miss out on something awesome. It’s not worth it.”

Mayhew is a New Zealand-based international film publicist, and because of her country’s success in controlling Covid 19, she is one of the rare people able to experience Promising Young Woman in a sold-out cinema. “It was palpable. Everyone was so engaged and almost leaning forwards. There were a lot of laughs from women, but it was also a really challenging setting. A lot of people looking down, looking away, and there was a girl who was crying uncontrollably at the end.”

“Material can be very triggering,” White agrees. “It depends where people are personally in their journey. When I still had a lot of trauma I hadn’t worked through in my 20s, I found certain things very difficult to watch. Those things are a reality—but people can make their own decisions about the material they feel able to watch.”

It’s about warning, and preparation, more than total deprivation, then? “I believe in giving people information so they can make the best choice for themselves,” White says. “But I find it quite reductive, and infantilizing in some respects, to be told broadly, ‘Women who have experienced x shouldn’t watch this.’ That underestimates the resilience of some people, the thirst for more information and knowledge.” (This point is clearly made in this meticulous, awe-inspiring list by Jenn, who is on a journey to make sense of her trauma through analysis of rape-revenge films.) But clarity is crucial, particularly for those grappling with unresolved issues.

Searles agrees Promising Young Woman can be a difficult, even unpleasant watch, but still one with value. “As a survivor it did not make me feel good, but it gave me a window into the way other people might respond to your assault. A lot of the time [my friends] have reacted in ways I don’t understand, and the movie feels like it’s trying to make sense of an assault from the outside, and the complicated feelings a friend might have.”

Molly Parker and Vanessa Kirby in ‘Pieces of a Woman’.

* * *

A newborn dies. A character is brutally violated. A population is tortured. To be human is to bear witness to history, but it’s still painful when that history is yours, or something very close to it. “Some things are hard to watch because you relate to them,” Searles explains. “I find mother! hard to watch, and there’s no actual sexual assault. But I just think of sexual assault and trauma and domestic abuse, even though the film isn’t about that. The thing is, you could read an academic paper on patriarchy—you don’t need to watch it on a show [or in a film] if you don’t want to.”

White agrees: “I’ve never been able to watch Nil by Mouth, because I grew up in a house of domestic violence and I find physical violence against women on screen very hard to watch. But that doesn’t mean I think the film shouldn’t be shown—it should still exist, I’ve just made the choice not to watch it.” (Reader, since our conversation, she watched it. At 2:00am.)

“I know people who do not watch Promising Young Woman or The Handmaid’s Tale because they work for an NGO in which they see those things literally in front of their eyes,” Mayhew says. “It could be helpful for someone who isn’t aware [of those issues], but then what is the purpose of art? To educate? To entertain? For escapism? It’s probably all of those.”

Importantly, how much weight should an artist’s shoulders carry, when it comes to considering the audiences that will see their work? There’s a general agreement among my interviewees that, as White says, “filmmakers have to make the art that they believe in”. I don’t think any film lover would disagree, but, suggests Searles, “these films should be made with survivors in mind. That doesn’t mean they always have to be sensitive and sad and declawed. But there is a way to be provocative, while leaning into an emotional truth.”

Madeleine Sims-Fewer in ‘Violation’.

Violation, about which I’ll say little here since it is yet to screen at SXSW (ahead of its March 25 release on Shudder) is not at all declawed, and is certainly made with survivors in mind—in the sense that in life, unlike in movies, catharsis is very seldom possible no matter how far you go to find it. On Letterboxd, many of those who saw Violation at TIFF and Sundance speak of feeling represented by the rape-revenge plot, writing: “One of the most intentionally thought out and respectful of the genre… made by survivors for survivors” and “I feel seen and held”. (Also: “This movie is extremely hard to watch, completely on purpose.”)

“Art can do great service to people,” agrees White, “If, by consequence, there is great service for people who have been in that position, that’s a brilliant consequence. But I don’t believe filmmakers and artists should be told that they are responsible for certain things. There’s a line of responsibility in terms of being irresponsible, especially if your community is young, or traumatised.”

Her words call to mind Bradley Cooper’s reboot of A Star is Born, which many cinephiles knew to be a remake and therefore expected its plot twist, but young filmgoers, drawn by the presence of Lady Gaga, were shocked (and in some cases triggered) by a suicide scene. When it was released, Letterboxd saw many anguished reviews from younger members. In New Zealand, an explicit warning was added to the film’s classification by the country’s chief censor (who also created an entirely new ‘RP18’ classification for the Netflix series 13 Reasons Why, which eventually had a graphic suicide scene edited out two years after first landing on the streaming service).

“There is a duty of care to audiences, and there is also a duty of care to artists and filmmakers,” says Mayhew. “There’s got to be some way of meeting in the middle.” The middle, perhaps, can be identified by the filmmaker’s objective. “It’s about feeling safe in the material,” says Mia Bays of the Birds’ Eye View film collective, which curates and markets films by women in order to effect industry change. “With material like this, it’s beholden on creatives to interrogate their own intentions.”

Filmmaker Shatara Michelle Ford is “forever interrogating” ideas of power. Their debut feature, Test Pattern, deftly examines the power differentials that inform the foundations of consent. “As an artist, human, and person who has experienced all sorts of boundary violation, assault and exploitation in their life, I spend quite a lot of time thinking about power… It is something I grapple with in my personal life, and when I arrive in any workplace, including a film set.”

In her review of Test Pattern for The Hollywood Reporter, Searles writes, “This is not a movie about sexual assault as an abstract concept; it’s a movie about the reality of a sexual assault survivor’s experience.” Crucially, in a history of films that deal largely with white women’s experiences, Test Pattern “is one of the few sexual-assault stories to center a Black woman, with her Blackness being central to her experience and the way she is treated by the people around her.”

Brittany S. Hall in ‘Test Pattern’.

* * *

Test Pattern follows the unfolding power imbalance between Renesha (Brittany S. Hall) and her devoted white boyfriend Evan (Will Brill), as he drives her from hospital to hospital in search of a rape kit, after her drink was spiked by a white man in a bar who then raped her. Where Promising Young Woman is a millennial-pink revenge fantasy of Insta-worthy proportions, Test Pattern feels all too real, and the cops don’t come off as well as they do in the former.

Ford does something very important for the audience: they begin the film just as the rape is about to occur. We do not see it at this point (we do not really ever see it), but we know that it happened, so there’s no chance that, somewhere deeper into the story, when we’re much more invested, we’ll be side-swiped by a sudden onslaught of sexual violence. In a way, it creates a safe space for our journey with Renesha.

It’s one of many thoughtful decisions made by Ford throughout the production process. “I’m in direct conversation with film and television that chooses to depict violence against women so casually,” Ford tells me. “I intentionally showed as little of Renesha’s rape as humanly possible. I also had an incredibly hard time being physically present for that scene, I should add. What I did shoot was ultimately guided by Renesha’s experience of it. Shoot only what she would remember. Show only what she would have been aware of.

“But I also made it clear that this was a violation of her autonomy, by allowing moments where we have an arm’s length point of view. I let the camera sit with the audience, as I’m also saying, as the filmmaker, this happened, and you saw enough of it to know. This, for me, is a larger commentary on how we treat victims of assault and rape. I do not believe for one goddamn minute that we need to see the actual, literal violence to know what happened. When we flagrantly replicate the violence in film and television, we are supporting the cultural norm of needing ‘all of the evidence’—whatever that means—to ‘believe women’.”

Ford’s intentional work in crafting the romance and unraveling of Test Pattern’s leading couple pays off on screen, but their stamp as an invested and careful director also shows in their work with Drew Fuller, the actor who played Mike, the rapist. “It’s a very difficult role, and I’m grateful to him for taking it so seriously. When discussing and rendering the practice and non-practice of consent intentionally, I found it helpful to give it a clear definition and provide conceptual insight.

“I sent Drew a few articles that I used as tools to create a baseline understanding when it comes to exploring consent and power on screen. At the top of that list was Lili Loofbourow’s piece, The female price of male pleasure and Zhana Vrangalova's Teen Vogue piece, Everything You Need to Know about Consent that You Never Learned in Sex Ed. The latter in my opinion is the linchpin. There’s also Jude Elison Sady Doyle’s piece about the whole Aziz Ansari thing, which is a great primer.”

Sidney Flanigan in ‘Never Rarely Sometimes Always’.

Even when a filmmaker has given Ford’s level of care and attention to their project, what happens when the business end of the industry gets involved in the art? As we well know, marketing is a film’s window dressing. It has one job: to get eyeballs into the cinema. It can’t know if every viewer should feel safe to enter.

It would be useful, with certain material, to know how we should watch, and with whom, and what might we need in the way of support coming out. Whose job is it to provide this? Beyond the crude tool of an MPAA rating (and that’s a whole sorry tale for another day), there are many creative precautions that can be taken across the industry to safeguard a filmgoer’s experience.

Mayhew, who often sees films at the earliest stages (sometimes before a final cut, sometimes immediately after), speaks to journalists in early screenings and ensures they have the tools to safely report on the topics raised. In New Zealand, reporters are encouraged to read through resources to help them guide their work. Mayhew’s teams would also ensure journalists would be given relevant hotline numbers, and would ask media outlets to include them in published stories.

“It’s not saying, ‘You have to do this’,” she explains, “It’s about first of all not knowing what the journalist has been through themselves, and second of all, [if] they are entertainment reporters who haven’t navigated speaking about sexual assault, you only hope it will be helpful going forward. It’s certainly not done to infantilize them, because they’re smart people. It’s a way to show some care and support.”

The idea of having appropriate resources to make people feel safe and encourage them to make their own decisions is a priority for Bays and Birds’ Eye View, as well. The London-based creative producer and cultural activist stresses the importance of sharing such a viewing experience. “It’s the job of cinemas, distributors and festivals to realize that it might not be something the filmmaker does, but as the people in control of the environment it’s our job to give extra resources to those who want it,” says Bays. “To give people a safe space to come down from the experience.”

Pre-pandemic, when Birds’ Eye View screened Kitty Green’s The Assistant, a sharp condemnation of workplace micro-aggressions seen through the eyes of one female assistant, they invited women who had worked for Harvey Weinstein. For a discussion after Eliza Hittman’s coming-of-ager Never Rarely Sometimes Always, abortion experts were able to share their knowledge. “It’s about making sure the audience knows you can say anything here, but that it’s safe,” Bays explains. “It’s kind of like group therapy—you don’t know people, so you’re not beholden to what they think about you. And in the cinema people aren’t looking at you. You’re speaking somewhat anonymously, so a lot of really important stuff can come out.”

The traditional movie-going experience, involving friends, crowds and cathartic, let-loose feelings, is still largely inaccessible at the time of writing. Over the past twelve months we’ve talked plenty about preserving the magic of the big screen experience, but it’s about so much more than the romanticism of an art form; it’s also about the safety that comes from a feeling of community when watching potentially upsetting movies.

“The going in and coming out parts of watching a film in the cinema are massively important, because it’s like coming out of the airlock and coming back to reality,” says Bays. “You can’t do that at home. Difficult material kind of stays with you.” During the pandemic, Birds’ Eye View has continued to provide the same wrap-around curatorial support for at-home viewers as they would at an in-person event. “If we’re picking a difficult film and asking people to watch it at home, we might suggest you watch it with a friend so you can speak about it afterwards,” Bays says.

Julia Garner in ‘The Assistant’.

But, then, how can we still find this sense of community without the physical closeness? “It’s no good waiting for [the internet] to become kind,” she says. “Create your own closed spaces. We do workshops and conversations exclusively for people who sign up to our newsletter. In real-life meetings you can go from hating something to hearing an eloquent presentation of another perspective and coming round to it, but you need the time and space to do that. This little amount of time gives you a move towards healing, even if it’s just licking some wounds that were opened on Twitter. But it could be much deeper, like being a survivor and feeling very conflicted about the film, which I do.”

Conflict is something that Searles, the film critic, knows about all too well in her work. “Since I started writing professionally, I almost feel like I’m known for writing about assault and rape at this point. I do write about it a lot, and as a survivor I continue to process it. I’ve been assaulted more than once so I have a lot to process, and so each time I’m writing about it I’m thinking about different aspects and remnants of those feelings. It can be very cathartic, but it’s a double-edged sword because sometimes I feel like I have an obligation to write about it too.”

There is also a constant act of self-preservation that comes with putting so much of yourself on the internet. “I often get messages from people thanking me for talking about these subjects with a deep understanding of what they mean,” Searles says. “I really appreciate that. I get negative messages about a lot of things, but not this one thing.”

Michaela Coel in ‘I May Destroy You’.

* * *

With such thoughtful approaches to heavy content, it feels like we’re a long way further down the road from blunt tools like content and trigger warnings. But do they still have their place? “It’s just never seemed appropriate to put trigger warnings on any of our reviews or features,” White explains. “We have a heavy male readership, still 70 percent male to 30 percent female. I’m conscious we’re talking to a lot of men who will often have experienced violence themselves, but we don’t put any warnings, because we are an adult magazine, and when we talk about violence in, say, an action film, or violence that is very heavily between men, we don’t caveat that at all.”

Bays, too, is sceptical of trigger warnings, explaining that “there’s not much evidence [they] actually work. A lot of psychologists expound on the fact that if people get stuck in their trauma, you can never really recover from PTSD if you don’t at some point face your trauma.” She adds: “I’m a survivor, and I found I May Destroy You deeply, profoundly triggering, but also cathartic. I think it’s more about how you talk about the work, rather than having a ‘NB: survivors of sexual abuse or assault shouldn’t see this’.”

“It’s important to give people a feel of what they’re in for,” argues Searles. “A lot of people who have dealt with suicide ideation would prefer that warning.” While some worry that a content warning is effectively a plot spoiler, Searles disagrees. “I don’t consider a content warning a spoiler. I just couldn’t imagine sitting down for a film, knowing there’s going to be a suicide, and letting it distract me from the film.” Still, she acknowledges the nuance. “I think using ‘self-harm’ might be better than just saying ‘suicide’.”

Mayhew shared insights on who actually decides which films on which platforms are preceded with warnings—turns out, it’s a bit messy. “The onus traditionally has fallen on governmental censorship when it comes to theatrical releases,” she explains. “But streamers can do what they want, they are not bound by those rules so they have to—as the distributors and broadcasters—take the government’s censors on board in terms of how they are going to navigate it.

“The consumer doesn’t know the difference,” she continues, “nor should they—so it means they can be watching The Crown on Netflix and get this trigger warning about bulimia, and go to the cinema the next day and not get it, and feel angry about it. So there’s the question of where is the responsibility of the distributor, and where is the responsibility of the audience member to actually find out for themselves.”

The warnings given to an audience member can also vary widely depending where they find themselves in the world, too. Promising Young Woman, for example, is rated M in Australia, R18 in New Zealand, and R in the United States. Meanwhile, the invaluable Common Sense Media recommends an age of fifteen years and upwards for the “dark, powerful, mature revenge comedy”. Mayhew says a publicist’s job is “to have your finger on the pulse” about these cultural differences. “You have to read the overall room, and when I say room I mean the culture as a whole, and you have to be constantly abreast of things across those different ages too.”

She adds: “This feeds into the importance of representation right at the top of those boardrooms and right down to the film sets. My job is to see all opinions, and I never will, especially because I am a white woman. I consider myself part of the LGBT community and sometimes I’ll bring that to a room that I think has been lacking in that area, when it comes to harmful stereotypes that can be propagated within films about LGBT people. But I can’t bring a Black person’s perspective, I cannot bring an Indigenous perspective. The more representation you have, the better your film is going to be, your campaign is going to be.”

Bays, who is also a filmmaker, agrees: representation is about information, and working with enough knowledge to make sure your film is being as faithful to your chosen communities as possible. “As a filmmaker, I’d feel ill-informed and misplaced if I was stumbling into an area of representation that I knew nothing about without finding some tools and collaborators who could bring deeper insight.”

Carey Mulligan and Bo Burnham in ‘Promising Young Woman’.

This is something Ford aimed for with Test Pattern’s choice of crew members, which had an effect not just on the end product, but on the entire production process. “I made sure that at the department head level, I was hiring people I was in community with and fully saw me as a person, and me them,” they say. “In some ways it made the experience more pleasurable.” That said, the shoot was still not without its incidents: “These were the types of things that in my experience often occur on a film set dominated by straight white men, that we're so accustomed to we sometimes don’t even notice it. I won’t go into it but what I will say is that it was not tolerated.”

Vital to the telling of the story were the lived experiences that Ford and their crew brought to set. “As it applies to the sensitive nature of this story, there were quite a few of us who have had our own experiences along the spectrum of assault, which means that we had to navigate our own internal re-processing of those experiences, which is hard to do when we’re constructing an experience of rape for a character.

“However, I think being able to share our own triggers and discomfort and context, when it came to Renesha’s experience, made the execution of it all the better. Again, it was a pleasure to be in community with such smart, talented and considerate women who each brought their own nuance to this film.”

* * *

Thinking about everything we’ve lived through by this point in 2021, and the heightened sensitivity and lowered mental health of film lovers worldwide, movies are carrying a pretty heavy burden right now: to, as Jane Fonda said at the Golden Globes, help us see through others’ eyes; also, to entertain or, at the very least, not upset us too much.

But to whom does film have a responsibility, really? Promising Young Woman’s writer-director Emerald Fennell, in an excellent interview with Vulture’s Angelica Jade Bastién, said that she was thinking of audiences when she crafted the upsetting conclusion.

What she was thinking was: a ‘happy’ ending for Cassie gets us no further forward as a society. Instead, Cassie’s shocking end “makes you feel a certain way, and it makes you want to talk about it. It makes you want to examine the film and the society that we live in. With a cathartic Hollywood ending, that’s not so much of a conversation, really. It’s a kind of empty catharsis.”

So let’s flip the question: what is our responsibility, as women and allies, towards celebrating audacious films about tricky subjects? The marvellous, avenging blockbusters that once sucked all the air out of film conversation are on pause, for now. Consider the space that this opens up for a different kind of approach to “must-see movies”. Spread the word about Test Pattern. Shout from the rooftops about It’s A Sin. Add Body of Water and Herself and Violation to your watchlists. And, make sure the right people are watching.

Brittany S. Hall and Will Brill in ‘Test Pattern’.

I asked my interviewees: if they could choose one type of person they think should see Promising Young Woman, who would it be? Ford has not seen Fennell’s film, but “it feels good to have my film contribute to a larger discourse that is ever shifting, ever adding nuance”. They are very clear on who can learn the most from their own movie.

“A white man is featured so prominently in Test Pattern as a statement about how white people and men have a habit of centering themselves in the stories of others, prioritizing their experience and neglecting to recognize those on the margins. If Evan is triggering, he should be. If your feelings about Evan vacillate, it is by design.

“‘Allies’ across the spectrum are in a complicated dance around doing the ‘right thing’ and ‘showing up’ for those they are ostensibly seeking to support,” Ford continues. “Their constant battle is to remember that they need to be centering the needs of those they were never conditioned to center. Tricky stuff. Mistakes will be made. Mistakes must be owned. Sometimes reconciliation is required.”

It is telling that similar thoughts emerged from my other interviewees regarding Promising Young Woman’s ideal audience, despite the fact that none of them was in conversation with the others for this story. For that reason, as we come to the end of this small contribution to a very large, ongoing conversation, I’ve left their words intact.

White: I think it’s a great film for men.

Searles: I feel like the movie is very much pointed at cisgender heterosexual men.

Mayhew: Men.

White: We’re always warned about the alpha male with a massive ego, but we’re not warned about the beta male who reads great books, listens to great records, has great film recommendations. But he probably slyly undermines you in a completely different way. Anybody can be a predator.

Searles: The actors chosen to play these misogynist, rape culture-perpetuating men are actors we think of as nice guys.

White: We are so much more tolerant of a man knocking the woman over the head, dragging her down an alley and raping her, because we understand that. But rape culture is made up of millions of small things that enable the people who do it. We are more likely to be attacked in our own homes by men we love than a stranger in the street.

Mayhew: The onus should not fall on women to call this out.

Searles: It’s not just creeps, like the ones you see usually in these movies. It’s guys like you. What are you going to do to make sure you’re not like this?

Related content

Sex Monsters, Rape Revenge and Trauma: a work-in-progress list

Rape and Revenge: a list of films that fall into, and play with, the genre

Unconsenting Media: a search engine for sexual violence in broadcasting

Follow Ella on Letterboxd

If you need help or to talk to someone about concerns raised for you in this story, please first know that you are not alone. These are just a few of the many organizations and resources available, and their websites include more information.

US: RAINN (hotline 0800 656 HOPE); LGBT National Help Center; Pathways to Safety; Time’s Up.

Canada: Canadian Association of Sexual Assault Centers—contacts by province and territory

UK/Ireland: Mind; The Survivors Trust (hotline 08088 010818); Rape Crisis England and Wales

Europe: Rape Crisis Network Europe

47 notes · View notes

frostsinth · 4 years ago

Text

Royal Flush - Pt. 9

Part 1|2|3|4|5|6|7|8 - MasterList - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art - Art (so much Art...)

Ironically (not ironic), I actually wrote part 10 before I came back and wrote this part. Let me say, this is a family heavy chapter. It’s a bit intense, but I hope you’ll be able to bear with me so we can get to the next one. Because homg... it’s worth it. Which you may see, based upon where I left this one off.

Read more of my ramblings on my MasterList above, and feel free to BuyMeACoffee while you’re there to support my unbridled insanity (#obsession). Check out all the artwork and related posts for these guys by clicking #Royal Flush. Like what you see? You can commission me for an art piece or story. Just shoot me a DM!

Thanks to everyone for all your support so far. Enjoy!

My spine itched to move, my fingers longed to twist and wring about themselves. But I sat still, letting the carriage bounce along around me. Staring out the window with as blank a face as I could muster. Externally, my features were fixed, my posture straight. Internally? I thought my heart might just burst. It beat hard and fast against my breast, slamming into my ribcage with a reckless abandon that belittled its delicacy. My stomach turned and flipped in knots. I was grateful for my darker complexion at that moment. It meant that nobody could quite tell how sick I was feeling. Save for those who already knew the various shades of my complexion, of course, and those who shared it.

I chanced a glance at Grier, sitting across from me in the carriage. I wondered if he noticed the change; he hadn’t known me long. Though I supposed he had seen quite the fair variety of the shades my skin could become, based upon how much he seemed to enjoy getting me flustered. I pondered for a moment if I would recognize his skin if he flushed or paled. I wondered if he had already in the past, but I simply could not tell, as his particular shade of green was foreign enough to befuddle my senses. Would he turn red when embarrassed, as persons of a fairer complexion did? Or perhaps his color would darken, as mine did? I amused myself with the thought that perhaps he would turn an entirely different color. Purple would look quite fetching on him, I thought.

It was the first time we had really seen each other since the previous morning, and he was watching me. I could feel his eyes on me, for the entirety of the ride. More than once he had tried to pull me into a conversation, but when I would only give short, polite answers, he eventually gave up. Leaving us in the awkward silence we sat in now. I didn’t mind overly, staring out the window as the countryside passed by. Each mile ticking by like a year of my life; even though we moved much faster than any normal carriage. What should have taken us nearly two days now took less than half of one. We had left before the sun had crested the horizon, and expected to be at the Kingdom walls by noon at the latest. Grier assured me we were moving a little slower than normal, as we had a large contingency of goblins in tow. I wasn’t sure if I preferred the speed, or would have rather lingered in the journey. I dreaded this day more than I could ever hope to fully acknowledge.

Perhaps the King had sensed that, and let me wallow rather than pressing too hard for my attention, despite the fact that I knew he wanted to. Despite the fact that our last interaction had been set in a completely different tone... His expressions ranged wild and free on his sharp features; from his own much more subdued anxiousness, to a soft anger at the corners of his eyes, then to a strange somberness which seemed to thicken his already prominent brow, then again to worry, followed by a distant, glazed over look… I worried what the court would think of this ‘radical’ display. Not to mention his choice of attire. A ruffled cream shirt tucked into high waisted black trousers with tiny golden embroidery. Topped off by a flowing coat of silken pink and blue squares that he wore draped across his shoulders and clasped at his neck with a gold chain rather than with his arms through the sleeves. Relatively conservative by his standards, I supposed, but outlandish by my Kingdom’s. I worked out a lump in my throat with a small swallow as the walls loomed over our heads.

We slowed as we entered the lower city in order to disperse the goblins to their duties as per our discussions and plans with the Masters. Something was off though. The people cowered and quivered in the shadows of their homes. Looking out with surprise and suspicion as Damjan ordered his contingent about in abrupt goblinese. I resisted the urge to sigh. This was not off to a great start… I noticed there seemed to be a prominent lack of city guards. And I doubted it was an oversight. A soft shout of alarm had me craning my neck about to look almost behind us. The goblins were beginning to set up a station, including a tent, where they could have the citizens line up to be treated or warded. But the magic utilized in the process had already set the citizens on edge, and they were beginning to gather in the streets in even larger numbers, like moths to a flame. Pouring out of their abodes and whispering in anxious, hushed tones. I gritted my teeth, glancing at Grier. His own brow was furrowed. Why had Valerianus not readied the people, as he had promised? Surely they would then know why the goblins were here. Surely an order would have already been established. This felt more like panic and confusion. One that threatened to tip over into aggression...

Another shout had my next decision made for me, and I moved for the door before I could second guess it. Grier started to say something, but the door was already open by the time he did, and I stepped out into the streets. A rippling murmur spread through the crowd as I emerged, straightening to my full height and looking around. I stiffened my spine, considering the gathered as I stepped around the horses at the front of the carriage. Very aware of at least a hundred sets of eyes following me.

“Excuse me, good sir.” I called out to one of the more well-dressed members (though by this I merely meant that his clothes had less holes and stains than his fellows). His eyes went wide with recognition, and him and the immediate surrounding members of the crowd quickly dropped into a bow. The rest of the gathered began to follow suit. I took heart in that, and walked over to him. “Rise, sir, I would speak with you if I may.”

“B-beggin’ yer pardon, yer Princeliness… sir…” Mumbled the man, straightening slightly. An unnatural hush had fallen over the crowd. “How can I be of service, my Lord?”

“I am looking for someone in charge.” I started, and I saw his eyes dart up to me in surprise. I almost sighed; yes, of course, I was someone in charge. “... An elder. Your elected official.” I clarified. “Someone to speak for you.”

“Ah… I supposin’ that would be me then, my Lord.” He replied, dipping his head low.

“Excellent.” I nodded to him. “May I have your name, good sir?”

He stammered a few times uselessly first. “I am Jeb, my Lord, if it be pleasin’ ya.”

“Mister Jeb,” I returned, then glanced about at the gathering, “Word was sent to us of the outbreak here in the lower city. Where are the sick being housed?”

Eyes widened at that, and a soft murmur whipped like a chilly breeze through the crowd. The townsman's eyes also stretched, then filled with a wariness, and I saw them flick over my shoulder. I could hear the soft click of boots on stone behind me and didn’t have to stretch my imagination far to figure out who approached. Jeb’s eyes flicked back to me anxiously.

“Ah… We are keepin’ the worst in the main temple, My Lord…”

I nodded. “Thank you, Mister Jeb. Would you be so kind as to escort the goblin Masters there to see to them?”

There was a stiff silence again, and I saw the man glance about nervously. He was rather young still, though certainly older than me. I could see lines into the corners of his face and flecks of silver in his greasy black hair. But his eyes were bright, and his back unbowed. I guessed he was perhaps at most a decade or two my senior.

“Beggin yer pardon, my Prince… sir…” He hesitated, glancing around, “... What are yer… Masters… to be doing with them?”

I heard Grier scoff lightly behind me and there was a sharp intake of breath from the gathered. “Why, using their magic to heal them, of course!” He exclaimed, coming to stand at my side. “Whatever else would we be doing??”

Another murmur passed through the crowd, louder this time. Jeb’s eyes shot from me to Grier, then back again. I turned, bowing slightly in deference to the goblin.

“Beggin’ yer pardon again, Master Goblin.. Sir,” He mumbled, rubbing at the back of his neck, “But… there was rumor havin’ that our King planned to…” He dropped off, but the stiffening of his spine suggested to me a far less tasteful solution to the spread of the disease. Anger flashed through me at the understanding, though I hid it well. “We werena expectin’... ah… yerself…”

As he dropped off, obviously at a loss as to whom he was addressing, I bowed my head to Grier lightly again. “Allow me to present his Majesty, King Grier, of the goblin Kingdom.” I announced, loudly enough for the gathered to hear.

Jeb dropped to his knee, quick as a wink, which had the goblin starting slightly in astonishment. A gasp swept through the gathered now, and many followed the townsman’s lead and dropped to their knees as well. As was to be expected for a king’s presence. Murmurs and whispers were quickly filling the spaces between bodies, and only the choppy cough here and there broke the hiss.

Grier waved his hand, scoffing again. “Enough of that, there is no need.” He shot me a glance, as if irritated I had blown his cover. I dipped my head, but said nothing. Keeping my expression flat. He turned back to the townsman, who was slowly rising back to his feet nervously. “Sir Jeb, kindly assist my men in organizing, yes? We shall have a tent here for those able to walk to it.” He gestured to the one being set. “For those too unwell, they shall go with you or whomever you appoint to this temple you speak of.”

“Y-yes sir,... I mean, Yer Majesty… sir.” Jeb stammered, scrunching his hat between his hands and bowing excitedly. “We are most thankful, my Lords, most thankful!”

“Mister Jeb,” I put in, calling the man’s attention back to me, “Where are the city guards? Why have they left their posts?”

He shuffled anxiously. “... They wit’drew, my Lord. When the first of us fell sick…” He bowed his head, glancing out the corner of his eye warily. As if someone might be listening in. “The King recalled all of them… and closed the castle gates. To lessen the spread, they say.”

I stiffened, and my lips pursed into a tight line. Again, the rage rippled through me, but luckily Grier did not hesitate in light of this new information. He smiled widely, and Jeb twitched in surprise at the sight of his sharp teeth.

“Well, luckily we have no intention of doing the same,” He exclaimed, his voice light, “But I assure you, good sir, it will be addressed. After we heal the sick and ward everyone else for protection from the illness. But let us not delay a moment more in this, yes?”

The murmurs around us were quickly growing higher pitched, which I took as a positive. Excited and rushed, rather than low and angry. I glanced around the crowd as Jeb gestured a few people forward. Grier did the same, beckoning over some of the Masters to begin the organization. I lost track of their deliberations, looking beyond the roofs of the lower city to the high walls of the castle beyond. The feeling of dread returned to me, mixed with my anger, and despite the pristine white of the stone… the palace looked far darker than it should in the bright morning sunlight.

“Es’cuse me, Prince sir,” Came a small voice, and I turned, pulled abruptly from my ruminations. A small child stood before me, one thumb in their mouth, so covered in filth and grease I couldn’t quite tell if it was a boy or a girl. They were all skin and bones, and looked up at me with wide, bright green eyes. Our interaction was all but lost in the bustle as the humans and goblins finally began proper organization and preparation.

I dropped down to one knee before them, careful not to let my clean trousers touch the dirt road. But coming to their eye level. “May I help you, little one?” I asked softly.

Their eyes went wide with surprise, and they chewed on their thumb nervously. I guessed they must be about 6 or 7, though I supposed with malnutrition they could have been a fair bit older. It pained my heart to see them so, and I made a mental note to speak with whomever was in charge of the lower city now. Poverty, as evident before me was… unacceptable, to any degree.

“... Beggin’ yer pardon,” They mumbled around their thumb, glancing down at the road nervously, “But are ya Prince Niko… Nikostrant… Nikostrawsus… sir?”

I nodded curtly. “Yes, I am indeed.” I didn’t bother correcting their mispronunciation. My head tilted to the side slightly. “Is there something you need?”

“They be sayin’ yer the one who ended the war, sir…” They explained. “... They be sayin’ ya live with the goblins now, n’ we dun have ta fight them no mores, sir… is that true, sir?”

A few of the townspeople had slowed, and were gathering about us with quiet but curious stares. I nodded again, ignoring the eyes watching us.

“I suppose that is true. Though it was hardly-”

I started as the child launched themselves at me. Suddenly wrapping their grimy little arms as far around my neck as they would go. A loud wave of surprise rippled through the crowd, and I saw a hunched old woman rushing forward, looking panicked.

“Forgiveness, my Lord!” She cried, bowing repeatedly and reaching out as if to pry the child from my neck. “She’s but a babe still, she not be knowin’-”

I raised a hand, silencing her. Then used it to pat the little child’s back lightly. The crowd released a uniform breath of surprise and relief. A fresh murmur rippled through their ranks. The child leaned back after a moment, her eyes bright with awe, and bared spotty teeth at me in a delighted grin.

“Thank ye, my Prince.. Sir,” She told me, her voice soft and shy, “My pa’s home now, thanks to ya. I missed him much, and he be sayin’ yer why he’s back.”

A wave of something strange washed through me, and a quick glance around had me discovering the same mix of awe and gratefulness on all the gathered townspeople as the child held in volumes in her glittering eyes. The older women came forward a few steps, giving me a shy, polite smile. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth, turning back to the little girl. I reached out, tucking a strand of her messy hair behind one ear.

“You have nothing to thank me for, my Lady. It is your father who deserves the praise, for serving his Kingdom,” I assured her, “It was my duty and honor as your Prince to forge this Treaty for Peace.” I sensed hers weren’t the only ears listening intently, and increased my volume for the benefit of the other observers. “For too long have our two Kingdoms been at odds. But no more, I can promise you that. Now, we can work together. For the good of both humans and goblins alike.”

It felt overly formal, and very cliched. But a hearty murmur of excitement and approval spread through the gathered crowd like wildfire, and I even heard a few soft cheers. I patted the girl on the head once more, then slowly rose as she retreated back to the skirts of the older woman. The woman bowed to me deeply, as did the rest of the gathered people. I tucked my hands neatly in the small of my back, and turned as I heard Grier come up beside me. He grinned toothily up at me, and I felt my heart skip.

“I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” He teased lightly, glancing over at the little girl. She stared at him, eyes full of curiosity. My heart softened as I remembered another pair of very similar eyes, and I chanced a peek at the castle beyond again. “Apologies, my Lady, but if I might steal the Prince?” He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “I know he is quite charming company, but I am afraid we are due at the palace. I would be sorely pressed if I arrived without him on my arm.”

The small child giggled, then nodded shyly. I saw the old woman considering the goblin. Not quite warily, but neither with the open eagerness of her ward. Still, it was a good start for a people who had spent the last decade in fear of the goblins. When she felt my eyes on her, she bowed her head. I nodded, then turned back to the girl.

“Send my gratitude to your father for his service, if you would, my Lady.” I told her. “And my sincerest welcome home. May his days be long and full of blessings.”

Grier led the way back to the carriage, amid a completely different atmosphere than that we had arrived in. The people cheered and waved as we climbed back in, and the King offered a small returning wave before closing the door behind us. He settled back into his seat, still grinning like a fool. I considered him as I sat on to my own padded bench, carefully brushing the dirt off my hands and knees and straightening my vest.

“Oh come now, you must be pleased,” He pressed, “You are being welcomed home a hero! Your people are grateful to you for what you have done!” I glanced at him again, and his grin grew. “Surely that must set your heart at ease.”

I turned my attention to the window, hearing the muffled sounds of the people as we passed them by. Damjan’s mount clopped past my view as he moved back to the front of the caravan to the castle. I adjusted my tongue in my mouth. Feeling far too numb to fully register anything but the dark looming shape of a place I had once called home. I watched the walls climb up, up, up as we drew ever closer.

“The welcome will not be quite so universal.” I told him dryly.

I saw his brow scrunch, and he followed my eyes to the castle. A scowl skittered across his lips, and he shifted in his seat. I could sense his hesitation; the preliminary to something more he wished to say. I waited for it quietly, my stomach still flipping in my abdomen.

“Nikostratus…” He started, and I stiffened slightly in anticipation, “... Whatever might happen… I want you to know something…”

When he dropped off, I steeled my nerve and turned to look at him. His scarlet eyes currently held the delicate duality of ferocity and gentile, and I was instantly thrown by the strength of their warmth. So lost in their depth, I almost forgot to jump as his hand came out and rested upon mine on my knee. Almost.

“... I want you to know how much I like you, and how happy you make me. Just the way you are...” He breathed. “And I am here not for the sake of this Treaty, nor, most especially, for that weasel you call a King… I am here for you. For you, and for no one else.”

I let his words filter slowly through my mind, turning each over. But I kept my mask carefully in place. I saw him searching it carefully, and knew he found nothing from the disappointment that filled his. He took up my hand, almost desperately, and I saw something like a plea in those scarlet eyes of his. But I winced as the pads of our fingers touched, and I saw the plea replaced by a flash of pain.

“I appreciate the sentiment, Your-...” I stopped myself, seeing him flinch at my words. I chewed my tongue for half a moment before continuing. “... King Grier... But you are a good person. A good King. You would not stand by and allow innocent people to suffer when you have the ability to help them.” My confidence wavered, and I dropped my eyes. The only break in my defenses I allowed. Staring at his hand wrapped around mine. “... It is an honorable trait.”

He moved his thumb across my knuckles, and I somehow stiffened even more. “Yes, perhaps you are right… But I would not be here, as I am now. This,” He gestured to the carriage and fanfare and armed guards surrounding us, “Is not for the sake of innocent, suffering people. This,” He curled his fingers between mine, giving a gentle squeeze, “... This is for you.”

For my suffering, I added silently. My lips tightened, and I swallowed the hurtful response that came to sit on my tongue. This was not for me. He was here because he had deigned to invite himself, and by extension, was forcing me to face things I had left buried for a long time. And had buried for good reason. I carefully pulled my hand from his, and glanced back out the window. We were approaching the main castle gate, and I couldn’t think for the pounding of my heart in my ears. But when I looked back at Grier… he was confused. He was hurt… and I felt a stab of guilt for having caused that… as I’m sure he did for having unintentionally caused me such pain, even though I didn’t show it as he did. I knew it had not been his intent. I would have sighed, had I breath in my lungs to spare. I flicked my eyes to the rocking floor beneath our feet, opening my mouth. It stayed that way for a moment, then I closed it again.

I saw him shift, heard the muffled sounds of the shouts and announcements outside. A pause, then the heavy sound of the gate opening. I was running out of time, and my heart alternated between ramming against my chest at an alarming rate and skidding to a dead stop for several breaths. I gritted my teeth, chiseling the stone into place on my features. Preparing myself. But Grier… I glanced at him again. Grier was not prepared. Nothing could prepare him for this, I knew. Not without a lifetime of… what I had endured. I ran my hands down my legs slowly. I still needed to try.

My head shook, forcing it clear. “... Th-this…” I closed my eyes, steadying my focus. If I couldn’t speak to Grier, how could I hope to face the court? I reasoned. I tried again. “... This will be… very hard.” I told him, and realized my voice sounded nearly as weak as I felt. “And…” I dropped off again, then forced as deep a breath as my constricted chest would allow. “And I will need to be… someone else for it.” I almost winced, but I had chiseled myself into stone too well, and there was not a molecule of flesh left to do so. “... I need to… Grier…” I almost whispered his name, as though afraid of speaking it. “... to protect myself…” I glanced up at him, and could almost hear the click as the last of my composure snapped into place. “To protect you.”

My determination to do so drained the last of emotion and individuality from me. Hid me behind stone and hardened clay and a wall so high I couldn’t see the tops. I prayed that my words would be enough to soothe the goblin for whatever might come next. Somewhere deep down, in a spot I buried for when it was safe again, I worried. I worried that I might not be able to break that wall down when this was all over… If it ever would be over... But for now, it was necessary. And I straightened, looking away from the King as the carriage came to a halt. I couldn’t bear to try and read his expression. The door opened, and we stepped out into the main courtyard…

...

We were ushered down the main hall, then to the smaller audience chamber. My rage flared at this; as a visiting royal, Grier should be greeted in the main throne room. It was a barely concealed insult that my father would meet with him here. But then, I reasoned, perhaps he could excuse it to the staunch traditionalist Court, as it was not by his invitation that the goblin was here.

I stayed a pace behind the King in question as we were announced and led into the chamber. As was my place in the eyes of the human court, not only as secondborn, but also as… dare I even think it in this context, but as Grier’s betrothed. I kept my eyes straight in front of me, my head high and my shoulders squared as we entered. I did not look about, and registered the room from my peripherals. A few of the more prominent members of Court lined the walls, with the center aisle clear straight to the small throne at the end of the room. Valerianus stood to one side, and Gareth, to my dismay, to the other (though further back out of respect for my brother). I noticed my sister amid the pillars towards the back, and saw her face light up at the sight of me. I was grateful for once that Gareth caught her shoulder as she moved to pass him, keeping her in place. Despite his reasoning for doing so and the disdain I could almost feel wafting off him in waves. Despite my own contempt to have to see him once more. As if my return was not difficult enough without his disapproving eyes. Yet I was grateful, if only for a breath. I was not sure I could manage my sister at that moment, with my nerves taut and close to breaking. I could not allow myself to crumble, for any reason. And now my breath hitched at the site I had long dreaded. Sitting there, his back stiff, a scowl barely hidden in his stoney mask.

My father was not a small man. Not by any means. He was at least my height, though I had always thought him taller, with equally broad shoulders. My brother had inherited his square jaw, blonde hair, and fair skin, though my father’s complexion was more worn with his nearing 70 years. The edges were cracked and frayed, and his once proud cheeks had become shallow and gaunt. I decided he looked like parchment then, and about as lifeless, staring at us with hazel brown eyes (the mirror of my own) concealing the contempt I knew he must feel. His hand was forced here; he had not invited Grier to the palace, nor asked his aid. But he could neither deny it, now that it had been given. A lifetime of experience told me he was furious, though an outsider looking at him might only see another stone statue.

I wondered what the room must look like to the goblin King. An audience hall of statues, staring at him. The one bright, and colorful life amid a garden of stone. I would imagine it was unnerving, knowing what I did of the goblin court and general lifestyle. But to his credit, Grier didn’t flinch. Despite his diminutive height, he strode proudly into the room, head high, sharp featured face fierce. His head turned as he took in the room, as a predator surveys the herd, and one slender brow cocked. I saw a few skilled nobles twitch as his scarlet eyes ran over them. Damjan and a few more armed guards stood behind us, and the tension in the room was palpable. Grier stopped before the throne, considering my father with an unabashed appraisal.

I saw my father’s eyes flick up and down my companion’s attire, saw the slightest twitch of disapproval at the corner of his mouth. I felt a familiar anger rolling about in my gut, but carefully tempered it. Neither spoke for a long moment, nor did anyone else. It was not our place. There were two Kings to be reckoned with here, and no one would dare step out of line. The goblin guard had been well briefed in the need for their silence prior to our arrival, and they too held still under scrutiny. My spine itched, but I stood still, keeping my gaze trained forward at some distant place.

“Welcome to my home, King Goblin.” Came the greeting from my father finally, breaking the silence. The anger in my gut burned hotter at his refusal to use Grier’s name. I had no doubt he hadn’t even bothered to remember it, if he had ever cared to hear it. His voice was flat, and thin. He did not speak loudly, for he was King. If he was speaking, all others should be silent. There was no doubt in any listeners mind of that, just from his enunciation of that single line.

Grier dipped his head politely, and I saw his lips twitch. “I thank you for your hospitality, King Human.”

I would have laughed under different circumstances, as the Court members all visibly flinched at the insulting address. Even though it was no more than a mirror of their own King’s. My father seemed unmoved, though he brought up one hand slightly, resting the fingers by his chin. Valerianus’ eyes flicked from him to Grier, and I saw the gears moving slowly behind them. I wondered briefly what kind of welcome he had found upon his return from requesting our aid. I couldn’t imagine it had been very pleasant. My father flicked his fingers at him, answering the unspoken request.

“Your Grace,” He stepped forward, bowing slightly to Grier, “May I present, His Majesty, King Tiburtius, of Geriveria.” Grier inclined his head, and I knew the introduction of my father’s name was not lost on him. I could almost picture the twitch of amusement at the corner of his lips, though with my gaze fixed ahead I couldn’t quite make out the majority of his face. “And, Your Majesty,” The whole court drew in a sharp breath as Valerianus turned, bowing to my father, “Might I present to you, King Grier, of the Goblin Kingdom.”

Oh, my father would not be happy. I found I was surprised to see my brother act so boldly. Introducing both Kings with equal respect and grace. He had handled it nearly flawlessly, from my perspective, and I was pleased that now my father would not have the excuse to forget Grier’s name in any future address. It was a bold statement, but also a great sign of respect for the goblin King from the Crown Prince.

Again, my father was the first to break the silence. “Prince Valerianus tells me you have come to lend your… magic to our people.” He spat the word with as much disdain as was allotted for by our paltry excuse for emotions.

Grier inclined his head again. “Indeed. I received word of the terrible sickness plaguing the citizens of our sister kingdom,” He intoned, his voice, in contrast to my father’s, illustrious and loud, “And of course could not sit idly by.” His head cocked to the side. “I do hope I have not overstepped our alliance?”

The Court shifted restlessly, though almost imperceptibly. My father ran his finger across his dry lips. “... Of course, your aid is always welcome. We are most grateful.” The words were forced by politeness and honor from Grier’s bold and direct question, but I could sense his rage with having to have spoken them at all.

“I am glad to hear. I might have been led to think otherwise, considering the manner in which we were greeted.” Grier continued, his point barely concealed. By court standards, he had brusquely called out my father for his lack of fanfare and preparation.

“My greatest apologies,” My father returned without pause, no stranger to such plays, though his eyes narrowed by a barely perceptible hair, “We were given very little advance notice of your intent.”

“Ah, yes.” The goblin replied, nodding in bemusement. “But of course. I suppose you would request at least a week’s notice prior to hosting a royal visit.” His brow cocked. “I’m sure your people would have kindly waited to die until the day was more suitable for you.”

There was a sharp intake of breath that hissed through the room, and the tension grew. I heard the rustling of armor as the goblins shifted behind us in response. I felt a chill run down my spine as my father’s eyes turned to me, his gaze colder than ice.

“Perhaps it was foolish of me to expect Nikostratus to inform you of proper human etiquette. I will forgive you such small slights of course.” He replied, as if graciously ignoring the insults Grier casually levied at him was quite magnanimous of him. “After all, based upon the current state of him, I can see he has forgotten himself. Hardly a worthy representative of our people.” I tried not to twitch beneath his scrutiny, and did not move from my gaze locked straight ahead. My father’s eyes flicked to my brother. “Though it seems we are in short supply of that recently.”

It was not lost on me that he neglected to use my title. I saw the uncomfortable shift of the Court, the eyes flicking about almost nervously. This was, after all, as public a display of humiliation as one could get. I remained steadfast, unwavering. I had not been addressed, and so could not speak out.

“On the contrary, good King.” Mused Grier, his returning tone icy. “It is only by the nature of your sons that I am here at all.” His scarlet eyes considered my father harshly, and without pretense. “Should it not be for them, and Prince Nikostratus specifically, I would have been more than happy to raze your paltry kingdom to the ground.”

The equivalent of an uproar overtook the room, the members of court shifting more visibly. And even a few gasps and hushed whispers spreading through their ranks. My father stood, moving to try and tower over Grier. I knew this tactic. I had faced it many times. If his words failed him, he would try to intimidate by his sheer size alone. And then he would use his considerable courtly experience to completely destroy his opponent’s reputation and authority... By any means. I saw the goblin’s eyes harden, flashing with contempt. It broke everything; every training, every etiquette and protocol I had ever had forcibly ingrained into me. But I knew what came next, and I would not allow it to befall the goblin.

I stepped forward. Lining myself up with Grier. Shoulder to shoulder. An absolute breach in decorum and honor. I was a Prince, and he a King. It was the greatest disrespect, but less to Grier, and more to my father. As it forced him to address not only the goblin, but myself. For we now stood level to each other. He would have to reprimand me. He would have to acknowledge me, as he had all but refused to do since we had entered. I saw my father’s eyes flash. And he turned his focus on me. I prepared myself for the onslaught I knew was coming.

“Stand down, Prince Nikostratus,” He told me, his voice cold, spitting out the title as if it were venom on his tongue, “And remember your place.”

As he had addressed me, I could turn my head to him. Meeting his gaze. Then I bowed slightly. “Forgive me, Your Majesty,” I intoned, my voice flat. But I did not step back.

“I shall not.” He all but growled. “You are-”

“My betrothed.” Grier interrupted, and again, a gasp ripped through the hall. I saw Gareth make a quick exit with Morgana out of the corner of my eye, disgust evident on his features. He had to practically drag her out. “And as such, stands my equal. A position above yours, I would think. Considering the size of my Kingdom compared to yours.” Grier continued without pause. That rocked my father back, and his unbalanced attention switched back to the goblin. “Would you levy such an insult against me as to deny my partner, and your own son, the respect and authority he is entitled to?”

His eyes flashed, but was met with matching tenacity in the goblin King’s eyes. He lost himself for a moment, and I saw his mask slip. “You would-”

“I am a man and a King of my word,” He interrupted again, and I knew he was not about to let go of the advantage he now held, “I have made a Treaty, through the union of our two houses. A contract that benefits both our Kingdoms, in no small part due to Prince Nikostratus tireless efforts to make and keep the peace.” He crossed his arms over his chest. “Perhaps, Your Majesty, you have forgotten your own place.”

There was silence then, that cut into my eardrums like fire. I didn’t move, standing frozen in place at Grier’s side. My father’s mouth closed tight, and I saw him working to sort out the proper answer. It took him too long though, and I could see the weight of time dragging on him. I knew there was no right answer. Not one that he would ever allow himself to speak at least. But I also knew Grier was right. By all intents and purposes, my father had insulted him, and dishonored him. The goblin would be well within his rights to take his army and raze the human kingdom to the ground. No human with half a brain would be able to argue against his justification. Beyond that, I was certain my father was already well aware he was at a complete disadvantage should he decide to affirm the insult, for not only was the goblin army larger and stronger than our forces, but they were currently well entrenched into the city. And the castle. He could not afford to allow the insult to stand, and Grier had forced him to address it. As no human would ever have dared. Finally, he straightened, a cold storm settling across his stone-faced features.

Slowly, he tucked his hands behind his back. And I didn’t like the glint in his eyes. “Indubitably, King Grier. Allow me to offer a balm to this perceived slight.” He gestured one of the more prominent members of the court forward, who bowed repeatedly and anxiously. “Lord Tipp shall give you a proper tour of the castle, as our esteemed guest.” I stiffened, sensing his hand before he had even played it. His gaze flicked to me, still icy cold. “Since Prince Nikostratus is your equal, as you say, and already familiar with the castle, I am certain he shall be acceptable as a representative in your stead.”

Grier paused, considering this. To his credit, he did not flinch, but I knew my father had now forced his own hand. The goblin’s gaze flicked to me, and I could just see it out the corner of my eye. He would have to abandon me, or else retract his previous statement. Anything else would now be perceived as an insult from him. As my father’s attention turned back to the goblin, I allowed my eyes to flick to Grier at their corners. He watched me for a delayed moment, then gave a nod.

“Of course, King Tiburtius.” He returned, voice back to its previous airy lightness. “I would be pleased to see more of your home. And Prince Nikostratus will be more than able to handle our affairs as I do.” His eyebrow twitched up, and he glanced back at me. “I do hope he won’t mind indulging me so. Though I was certain he would wish to give the tour personally, as he is intimately familiar with the castle himself.”

I dipped my head politely. It was a paltry excuse, but absolutely viable, should I choose to take it. I realized he was asking me what I wanted, as best he could given the circumstances. Asking if I wanted him to stay, or if he should leave. It would not be a perfect cover, not an ideal excuse. It wouldn’t leave the best impression of us. But it was an option, and my heart skittered. Debating taking it. Feeling weak at the knees at the thought of being left on my own...

“I would not deny you your curiosity, Your Majesty,” I told him, slowly straightening and sealing my fate, “I am certain Lord Tipp will be an adequate guide. If it pleases you.”

“Good.” My father intoned before Grier could speak further. “Then it is settled.” He turned back to the court at large. “Lord Tipp will be able to show you the extent of our hospitality, which we have woefully neglected thus far. While I will speak with my sons. Alone.”

The court quickly and efficiently cleared behind Grier and his new host. I saw him shoot me a glance over his shoulder as my father turned and made his way back to his seat. I could give him nothing to soothe his conscience, but watched quietly as he and his small contingent of guards left. The sound of the door scraping shut sounded almost as sickening to my ears as a spine snapping. I turned slowly back to the throne as my father settled in it.

There was a long moment of silence that threatened to crush my nerve, but I held it resolutely in my breast alongside my pounding heart. Praying it was strong enough to endure whatever I was about to face.

“How long has it been, Nikostratus?” Came the flat, cold tones of my father finally. “A week? Two? Less than a month, I am certain.”

“Just over two weeks, Your Majesty.” I replied hollowly.

“And yet you stand before me, practically a savage.” He shook his head, running his hand across his chin. “Mannerless. Mud on your trousers and boots. I believe your top button of your shirt is even undone. Did you walk here?” He raised a hand, not allowing me a breath to answer. “And then you would disrespect me, in my own court? Seek to embarrass me in front of that… thing.”

I tightened my jaw, resisting the urge to lash out at him. “I did as you asked, Your Majesty. I brokered a peace between our Kingdoms. A fair and-”

“You have brokered a sham!” He snapped, though his cold voice barely raised at all. “This Treaty you sent? I have never seen anything so absolutely ridiculous in my life.” He scoffed. “A marriage?? Between a Prince and a King?? You must be joking.”

“Your Majesty, in goblin culture-”

“I do not care about goblin culture, you insolent cur.” He cut me off again, standing, glaring down at me, squaring his shoulders and all but spitting as he spoke. I instantly bowed my head, recoiling a step. “How dare you use the authority I granted you to follow your own lecherous pursuits.”

My gut roiled at his words, and I almost blanched. Instead, I secured my façade into harder shape, and cast my eyes to the ground. I could hear his disgust as plain as if he had spelled it out for me, and clenched my hands tightly behind my back to keep them from quivering.

“Your Majesty, the Treaty that Prince Nikostratus-” Valerianus began, and I was a little surprised at his intrusion.

“And you!” Our father spun on him, and he too recoiled. “I would expect this of your treacherous brother, but you? Going behind my back. Directly disobeying my orders. Inviting those wretched beasts into our Kingdom.” He scoffed, shaking his head. “The Gods have punished me with such disobedient and disgraceful sons.”

He settled back into his chair. We stayed with our heads bowed, staring at the ground. As we had many times before. My throat burned, and I blinked fervently. Our father let out a soft breath, not quite a sigh, rubbing at his chin with one hand. I almost winced again at the sound, as if he had moved to slap me.

“You, Nikostratus, will return with that… creature. As your last service to me, you will have him withdraw his fellows from our Kingdom. You hopefully have at least some honor left to complete that simple task.” His eyes narrowed slightly. “And then I will never hear from you again.”

“The Treaty-”

“I will arm no men against him, for now, so long as he keeps his filth from my borders. And you will count that as a blessing.” He cut in. “But you will not ask for my aid. Nor anything else from me.” He ran his hand over his chin again. “Perhaps the one good to have come of this was saving the arrangement of Morgana’s betrothal to that creature. I have begun negotiations with King Namier of Valthaven, whose army is twice the size of ours, in exchange for her hand.”

My blood ran cold, rushing like ice through my veins. “King Namier is nearly 40. He already-”

“ENOUGH!” I was rocked back by the volume and force of his voice. It sent me spinning back into my childhood, and I resisted the urge to wince, my resolve crumbling. “The sole reason I don’t have your head on a pike and your entrails in my dungeon right now is because that ludicrous monster you have disgracefully attached yourself to has somehow amassed a force powerful enough to subdue our armed forces. And then Valerianus was fool enough to allow them into our city. But make no mistake,” He stood again, stepping down to tower over me, “You are dead to me, Nikostratus.” I felt a numbness spread through me at his words, and my jaw clenched. “You have already dishonored and disgraced me, now leave with what little dignity you have left. And take that filth with you. Immediately!”

“Father, the people of the lower city-”

“The people be damned!” He snapped, spinning back on my brother, who instantly bowed his head again in the face of his quiet, seething rage. “I would see every one of them dead before I allow such abhorrent, lecherous beasts to remain in my kingdom. Now, get out of my sight! Both of you!”

Something snapped in me, as the numbness started to spread through my chest. Something I could not name. Some force or power that curled around me and flamed the hot rage in my gut... And I did not move. I remained rooted in place, instead raising my head and gritting my teeth. Valerianus has started to shift as if to leave, his brow slightly furrowed. I squared my shoulders and spread my stance, and my brother paused at the sight of me. After a moment, our father seemed to realize neither of us had exited, and turned back on us, his brow becoming like thunder behind his mask.

“Leave.” He commanded.

I straightened my back. “I will not.”

His eyes shot wide, breaking the fraying edges of his composure. “You have no authority-”

“As you have disowned me as your son,” I cut him off abruptly, my voice firm, “Then I stand before you, not as a Prince of your human court, but as future King of the goblin. And voice of their will.”

“You-”

“And as such,” I continued, ignoring him, “I am here to inform you that we will not be withdrawing from the Kingdom until every last citizen is treated or warded from this plague.” My voice was growing in volume with each word, each one more confident than the last. “Furthermore, should you attempt to act against any the terms of the Treaty, including refusal to admit the goblin kind into this Kingdom, we would be well within our rights to forcibly remove you from the throne and take it for ourselves.”

His mouth flapped uselessly, and I saw red growing in the apples of his pale cheeks. “... How… How dare-”

“The way I see it, Your Majesty, you have two choices,” I interrupted him again, my voice nearly quivering with my anger, but no less commanding, “You can accept this fact with some semblance of grace and dignity intact. Or,” I silenced his sputtering at my words again firmly, “You can attempt to publicly resist our efforts, and find instead the full might and force of the goblins dragging you kicking and screaming from your throne.”

I waited a breath, watching his eyes all but bulge from his skull. I could see Valerianus looking only slightly less perturbed than our father at the corners of my vision. Though his mask was much more securely fastened into place. But I ignored him other than this observation, focusing my fury on the man standing before me. As the King tried and failed to find a response, his face becoming more red by the minute, I glared down my nose at him. My shoulders squared, my confidence unrelenting.

When no reply seemed forthcoming, I broke the stony features of my face to cock one eyebrow up in a way that would have made Grier quite proud. “I will assume you choose the first option.” I mused. “But please do let me know if you decide on the latter. I would very much like to see it.”

With that, and a final farewell, I spun on heel with practiced military grace, and marched out of the room.

I walked with an almost giddy, light step. My breath shallow and huffy with adrenaline. I could hardly believe I had just done that. It felt like the memory of someone else, and my pulse raced with the excitement still coursing through me. But… by the gods did it feel good. I was out onto the raised walkway before the main courtyard when the quick click of boots alerted me to my pursuer. I turned, not sure who I was expecting to be there. And found it certainly wasn’t anyone I would have guessed.

“Prince Nikostratus,” My brother breathed, slowing before me, “A word, if you would be so kind.”

I quickly and carefully fixed my mask back into place, turning to face him fully. My heart sputtered in my chest, and I resisted the urge to swallow the lump that suddenly leapt into my throat. Had I forgotten something? Had I made some miscalculation? Perhaps this was a ploy, and attempt to delay me before I could inform the goblins of what had just happened. To distract me while the guard worked to mobilize. I wondered briefly if my father had sent him. My mind raced with the possibilities.

“You see what he is.” I blurted before I could stop myself. “... You see what he’s become.”

My brother hesitated, considering me for a moment, and the brusque nature of my words. Then, slowly, he nodded. “... Yes… I do.”

I straightened, composing myself again. “Then you understand why what I did was necessary, Prince Valerianus.”

Another pause, followed by another small, slow nod. “That is why I am here, Your Highness.” He hesitated again, then straightened his own spine and squared his shoulders properly. “I wanted to thank you.”

I stared at him, a little dumbfounded. I was grateful momentarily for the lifetime of perfecting the mask, so that even in the face of this surprise, it held. My silence, of course, was evidence enough to it. And he gestured towards the walkway, taking a step forward. Uncertain what else to do, I fell into step beside him, and we slowly walked the parapet.

“This is just one in a long line of transgressions I have unfortunately been party to.” He told me softly, and I saw him glance briefly to the side. “I cannot say much more, as you know as well as I that the castle has eyes and ears of its own. But…” He paused, dropping off. “You have done our people yet another selfless act, Prince Nikostratus. Even though you would have been completely justified in taking any other course of action.”

“I can do no less, Your Highness,” I replied, my tone back to the formal emotionless drone, “I may no longer be a Prince of this Kingdom in the eyes of its King, but they are still my people.” My voice became hard. “I will not allow them to suffer for his stubbornness and pride.”

“Another great service,” He replied, “For which I would like to offer you one in return.”

He stopped, turning to face me. I did the same, surprised but hiding it well. My brother looked me up and down, and I searched the edges of his mask with my trained perception. And yet I still couldn’t quite read what he intended.

“You have sacrificed everything,” He continued, his voice still soft, “Your home. Your future. Your…” I saw him hesitate, blinking slowly. I tried to wrestle with his meaning, but found myself wholly unable to discern it. “... I would like to correct this wrong. It was not your burden to take. We can find another path to peace with the goblins, Prince Nikostratus.”

It dawned on me slowly, and I shook my head. “You would have Morgana-” I started, my voice tight.

“If you think I am even capable of such a thought, then you do not know me at all.” He cut me off curtly. Then he paused. “... I am not our father, Nikostratus... And I have every wish to avoid that fate for myself.” He glanced down, belying his mask for a breath, then met my gaze firmly. “... I will find us another path to peace. You need not sacrifice yourself. I will do everything in my power to free you from your bonds. It is not too late. There has been no… ceremony.”

I looked at him, astonished. We stood in silence for a long moment, staring at each other… He didn’t know... He thought I was… I swallowed hard, realizing I would have to say more than I had ever been comfortable saying. A feat hard enough with someone familiar with the concept. Nearly impossible with one for whom the concept likely didn’t even exist. I tried to pick the right words. To come up with a response that would be as delicate as possible to his sensibilities. I clenched my hands into fists to keep them from shaking.

“I have given my word, Prince Valerianus.” I told him softly, but firmly. “I will not break it.” I started to open my mouth to say more, then slowly closed it. Hesitating. My heart racing in my breast. “... I am an adult. And have entered into this contract by my own free will, for the good of our Kingdom.” I stopped, hesitating again.

He considered me for a moment. Trying as I had to listen to the unspoken words between us. “Would it be… presumptuous of me to assume that perhaps this is… erm…” He shuffled, glancing down at our feet, a slight pink tinge rising to his cheeks. “... Not quite the same… ah... sacrifice I had initially thought, Your Highness?”

I felt my face flush, and quickly cleared my throat. Staring down at our feet as well. I stammered for a second, then managed to compose myself once more. “I-I...It would be…” I heaved a sigh, shaking my head slightly, “It would be a greater... sacrifice, on my part… t-to return things to how they were…”

I heard him swallow loudly. “... I see.”

I hesitated, then nodded resolutely. “I have found in this… Treaty… a freedom, Your Highness.” I slowly raised my gaze to him. “One I had never expected to find before, nor had ever hoped to pursue...” I swallowed nervously, and couldn’t resist a tiny shuffle of my feet. “The sacrifice, for me, is no different than any other arranged marriage.”

Valerianus studied my face again, and I hoped my flush wasn’t far too evident. But he nodded slowly. Then bowed his head. “Then I will honor your word as well, Prince Nikostratus.”

I bowed in return, and as we both straightened, I felt a strange weight lift from my shoulders. Only to be replaced by another.

“I would beg permission to ask another boon, Your Highness,” I told him as we stood face to face once more, “If you would grant it in light of my services.”

“Ask, Prince Nikostratus,” He replied, “And I will grant it if it is in my power.”

“... Let me take Morgana with me.” My brother froze at that, and I saw him glance quickly out the corners of his eyes again. I quickly rushed on. “You heard him. You know what he is planning for her…. She’s not safe here.”

Valerianus was quiet for a long moment, but he had been unable to mask the flash of pain at my words. We had many differences, my brother and I. But Morgana was not one of them. I knew he cared for her, in his own way. Their connection was not as powerful as mine and hers, yet his earlier words had given me hope that perhaps he might just wish for her the same future I did. Or at least one not so… repulsive. One with a chance of happiness.

I waited with my stomach flipping in knots. Waited with my breath caught in my throat and all my hopes on the line. I couldn’t even bear to think what would happen if he refused my request. And what lengths I would go to in order to assure he didn’t…

Finally, he nodded, slowly. “You are right… The Princess is not safe here. Not while our father…” He stopped, dropping off. Then nodded again. “It would be best if she was kept away from here. For a time, at least.”

I nearly collapsed with relief. With Valerianus’ aid, it could possibly be days until anyone of import noticed the Princess was missing. With his authority, all but the highest levels of court would be forced to look the other way. And even then, only our father had power above him. He gestured for us to continue our walk, and I fell into step beside him once more.

“You must let us ward you, Your Highness,” I told him as we walked, the tops of the pillars of the courtyard coming into view as we rounded the corner and came to the top of the stairs, “For the sake of our Kingdom’s future, I would beg you to consider you own safety.”

Valerianus nodded. “I will trust your judgement, on the matter, Prince Nikostratus.” He replied. “You have shown it to be quite sound.”

I could see Grier in the courtyard below, alone, and as soon as my eyes fell on him, my heart skipped several beats. I felt a warmth spreading through my chest, a longing unlike anything I had ever known before, and it left me in a haze of confusion with its unfamiliarity. I wanted nothing more to do with this palace I used to call home; I had never understood that word until now… And it wasn’t until I had returned that I realized it never had been a home to me. After everything that I had just endured, I wanted only to go down to the goblin King and leave. Preferably to never see this place again, and sooner rather than later. I had no strength for anything else.

“... Forgive me, Prince Nikostratus,” I nearly jumped at Valerianus’ voice, having momentarily forgotten that he was there, “... I thought at first it was a very elaborate ploy from the goblins. A spell, perhaps. Or a great strength of will on your part, for the sake of Morgana and our people.” I turned to face him properly, carefully squaring my shoulders with my back straight. “But I see now it’s more than that. You honestly... care for him. Don’t you?”

I faltered at his words, and blinked stupidly for a moment. Based upon the twitch at the corners of his lips, I assumed my mask had slipped momentarily. I quickly corrected the slight, leveling myself back into stone.

“My interest is wholly irrelevant for this contract. The arrangement of this marriage is for the sake of our Kingdom and people, Prince Valerianus,” I told him stiffly, careful to keep my voice flat, “For a much needed peace. I was beholden by my duty to our Kingdom to form this alliance, and we have already seen the benefits of the Treaty.”

“Of course, I do not doubt that in the least.” He agreed calmly, and took one elegant step forward to peer down at the courtyard as I had. “How fortunate then, Your Highness, that you have already grown quite fond of the man who will be your husband.” If I hadn’t known any better, I would have thought his tone was teasing. My lips worked uselessly at the air for a moment, and the corners of his twitched again as my face flushed once more. “... I am happy for you.” He turned back to me. “Truly, brother, I am. He seems to be a good man. And an honorable King. I would be fortunate indeed to someday find myself to be half the King he is.”

It was only the lifetime of discipline that kept the shock from registering on my face. I didn’t answer him, uncertain how to. I couldn’t remember the last time he had spoken to me so candidly, if he ever had. By the time I was old enough to remember our interactions, Valerianus was already a sullen teenager. Weighted with the responsibility of the crown. Hardly the mixture for a warm and affectionate older brother, especially in our family. Our eyes met for a long, quiet moment. And whatever tension lingered between us dissipated. I had no words to give him; nothing seemed appropriate in that moment. But they were unneeded. I felt my lips purse, and gave him a small nod. Which he returned, hands still clasped formally behind his back.

“I shall have the maid gather some things for the Princess quickly and bring them to your carriage, Prince Nikostratus.” He told me, then gave a shallow bow before spinning on heel to march off. “I shall task you with the nigh impossible feat of finding her.”

I nearly groaned, instead nodding to his retreating figure. Morgana could be any number of places by now. I knew the most likely, but that would take time. And time might not be something we had much of, if our father caught wind of our plans. Grier would help me, I declared to myself silently. And his men. We would have to work quickly, but for the first time in a long time, I had hope that things would turn out alright.

I spun back to descend the stairs to the courtyard, and was at the second ledge when a familiar sound came to my ears. It flooded my body with relief as I recognized my sister’s voice. But her words had me freezing in place.

“Excuse me…umm, sir goblin.”

A momentary pause, followed by a polite if hesitant; “Yes, My Lady?”

“I beg your pardon, but you are the King, yes?”

My heart skipped like a smooth stone across still waters. I eased down the last few steps, walking lightly to stand at the corner. Peering around it. Grier stood with his back to me, and Morgana before him with her hands on her hips. She wasn’t much shorter than him, but still had to tilt her chin up to meet his gaze. I started to round the corner, eager to tell both of them the good news and pleased they were in the same place. But curiosity stilled my feet, something about the determination set into her youthful face, and I lingered momentarily. Not quite hidden… that wouldn’t be very Princely. But they would have to look particularly hard to make me out behind the marble pillars...

“That I am.” I could hear the tiny smile in Grier’s voice. “... Can I be of service?”

“I demand an audience then, Your Majesty.” I almost groaned at her abruptness, and studied her little face for a moment. Intelligent and fierce…. I couldn’t deny it warmed my heart.

Grier hesitated again, but then offered her a small bow. “But of course, Princess. I am at your service… Shall we sit?”

...

UPDATE: Part Ten HERE

#Royal Flush #goblin #goblin king #goblin x human #goblin lover #goblin royalty #monster marriage #arranged marriage #slow burn #angst #mlm #male x male #monster lover #monster husband #monster boyfriend #terato #exophilia #monster royalty

66 notes · View notes

noneatnonedotcom · 4 years ago

Text

Accidental villain jaune: judgment

Jaune took a deep breath as he walked into the light of the stage, he barely heard the sounds of his introduction or the sounds of the audience’s polite applause. This was too important for someone like him to handle and yet here he was the only person who had actually tried to do this. He took a deep breath, letting the memories of his time with yang filter through calming him. Reminding him that even if everything went wrong, that even should the worst befall him and his enemies destroy all he built.

They’d still be there, they’d still love him.

All that was left to do was show them the levels of devotion he had for them and build a better world for them to live in.

He smiled at using their memories for strength and opened his mouth, his voice clear and confident, a little deeper than natural but hey he was a ruler, and lords were known for their lies.

Even the small ones.

Thank you for that introduction, Elbasan, and thank you for the invitation to speak in defense of my ideals. It is a privilege to be here, as a representative of Patch to offer my thoughts on a topic that is vital to Patch’s future: how institutions and individual citizens can work together to strengthen the rule of law and make Vale a more just society.

First, let’s define the terms. We often talk about “rule of law” in Vale, and I think the dictionary definition is pretty clear: the principle that all people and institutions are subject to and accountable to law that is fairly applied and enforced.

In democracies like the Atlas and Vale, writing, interpreting, and enforcing the law is the formal responsibility of the government, the council, but it is also the responsibility of citizens to participate in ensuring that—I will say it again—all people and institutions are subject to and accountable to law that is fairly applied and enforced.

The glory of justice and the majesty of law are created not just by the King– nor by the Council – nor by the officers of the law – nor by the lawyers – but by the men and women who constitute our society – who are the protectors of the law as they are themselves protected by the law.

But I submit to you that following the law is only one element of justice. Now, what do I mean by justice? Try Searching the word, as I did while writing this speech, and you’ll find some vague and unhelpful definitions. For example: “Justice is the quality of being just.”

Jaune smirked as the audience chuckled, he was on a roll now he had to do was keep up the momentum

“So “justice” is hard to define, but having seen many kingdoms, I’ve come to realize that attitudes about justice often deeply reflect history and culture.”

“In some places, history and culture dictate an emphasis on strict administration of written laws—written by a legislature or perhaps derived from religious texts—to ensure fairness and impartiality.”

“Citizens are expected to accept a court ruling, even if it is negative. In other places, people view the law more as a general guideline, but if a court rules against them, they are quick to dismiss the decision and assert their own definition of fairness.”

“This is frequently true where a minority group believes, perhaps with good reason,” Jaune quickly emphasized as he raised a hand in a placating manner to stave off the shouts and arguments that were sure to come

“That their government does not offer them equal protection under the law, or even that laws which were written specifically to disenfranchise them and deny them equal justice. And in some places, people are raised with the idea that providing opportunities for family or friends is more important than any responsibility to an abstract law or to society as a whole. I’ll be coming back to this point in just a moment, trust me when I say that it affects that greatly.”

He took a breath looking out over the masses of people all waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“This would be a good place for me to say that The Kingdom of Vale, the birthplace of democracy, is still struggling to build a society where all citizens and residents can be confident of equal protection under the law.”

No one spoke too enraptured by his speech, by the confidence in which he spoke the truth, to offer an argument

“So, I don’t want to give you the impression that building a just society is easy, or that Vale has all the answers. But we understand the importance of the goal of equality under the law, and we keep fighting to make it a reality.”

He took a breath drinking a glass of water even as his thoughts went back to his girls, to the women he loved more than anything. To the people who gave him a home after he had lost everything save his sister

“Let’s talk about Patch for a moment. I submit that an expansive view of justice, a concept that includes equal rights and opportunities, equal protection under the law, and confidence that government officials will be held accountable to the people, would create hope for Patch’s youth and confidence among Patch’s partners.”

“This view of justice expands its benefits to all of society, but what are the benefits of living in a just society with equality for all?”

“I believe that a just society is a more peaceful society, not without disagreement, but with established, non-violent means for working out differences among groups, and between citizens and government. In a just society, people feel that justice has been served when they understand how decisions are made, even if they don’t agree with the final result.”

“Finally, a just society is the foundation of a peaceful, prosperous society. A society in turmoil—a society without the predictability that rule of law brings—is a less attractive place for entrepreneurship and job creation.”

“Justice—the kind that protects all citizens equally—requires consistency and predictability, and respecting and implementing court decisions is an obligation of government agencies. Where rule of law is respected, court decisions are not open to negotiation or personal interpretation.”

“But, by embracing justice based on equal rights and opportunities, rule of law, and accountability for all of Patch’s citizens, you can ensure Patch achieves a brighter future. A future in which people succeed based on merit and talent. A future in which all citizens, faunas, and humans, enjoy equal opportunity. A future in which no person is above the law, and no person fails to receive the protections of the law.”

“The first step in this is the idea that I have put before you. The ideals of a trial by a jury of your peers, and that all defendants are innocent until proven guilty.”

I won’t lie to you on this, these ideas are radical,” he stressed, making sure to get across the trepidation that even he felt at moving so far so fast.

“but these are the first steps, and every individual citizen has a role to play in upholding the rule of law.”

“Expect more from your elected officials, the establishment of democracy in Vale was a gift from the last king.” “Expect politicians, police, prosecutors, and judges to meet their responsibilities of providing justice fairly, equally, and with honor.”

“Engage in formal legal processes, even if it takes more time and effort. Invest in justice institutions and hold them accountable to ensure that they live up to the ideals enshrined in the bedrock of your rich and multi-ethnic society.”

“Finally, expect more from your fellow citizens in building a just society.”

“I thank you for your attention and look forward to a frank and open discussion of these issues. If you’ll allow me to, I’d like to close with one more statement that I hope will stick with you.”

This was it, the final blow

“Injustice anywhere is a threat to justice everywhere. We are caught in an inescapable network of mutuality, tied in a single garment of destiny.”

Jaune bowed as rapturous applause moved through the auditorium he’d borrowed from signal, due to the government building of patch being too small for his conference. But as Jaune flashed a brilliant smile to the cameras and waved to the crowds before him, he couldn’t help but wonder what Yang and Ruby had thought of his speech.

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

“you know I figured you'd be more impressive up close" said a voice from within the hallways of signal, the steady rhythm of her heals signaling her approach

jaune raised an eyebrow at the declaration "while I do hate to disappoint a lady, I'm not sure what you're talking about" he said with a small smirk as he turned to look at none other than weiss schnee.

"you," she said standing a little straiter "there's been much talk about you, how you're an up in comer but all I see is a man spread thin, you have the start of a business, you have the start of an army, you're a powerful combatant I'll grant you. definitely the best of our generation. but that's it. I find myself..." she trailed off for a moment "wanting more"

jaune chucked "well, that's the business we're in I suppose but I think you've made a pretty large mistake on where my capabilities lie." he leaned back against the wall relaxing as he saw the Schnee grill raise her eyebrows

"and just what abilities am I overlooking?" she asked in a huff

"I'm very good at making friends"

a scoff was her response "you think that will make a difference? having friends? you're a child"

jaune smiled "no, I'm a realist. recent events have stressed that I have no real ability to do everything myself. I can hardly protect the people close to me as is. so I need more power. the best way to do that is to make friends. not just for political power, or economic power, but for personal power. for peace of mind. I have been... arrogant, I'll admit. I thought myself an island untouchable by all around me due to my power.” “but the loss of a friend has shown that I am still only a man." jaune stood to his full height "miss schnee I hope you understand what I'm saying. perhaps I am above others, they have made it apparent that they want me to be there, but I have long since moved past the childish ideals of doing everything on my own. Do you want to know why the world has been watching me? it's because when I listen to others. while your father has traded the respect and good name of your family and company for the short term gain of lein, I have garnered a reputation. it alone is not enough but I do have plans," he let loose a little further with his aura, reveling in the power he had over others "when I speak people listen, that is far more than a spoiled child like you can say"

there was a long silence before jaune turned away walking past the watching girl

from over his shoulder jaune called out "if you're interested, you may tag along. I can only imagine you'd learn far more from me than from your petty dictator of a father"

he didn't need to look back to know Weiss was angry, but that was a victory too.

she'd be thinking about him all month.

next chapter we go to beacon for real, i’ve already got it written up.

#accidental villain jaune #rwby #rwby au #Jaune Arc #weiss schnee #[email protected] fics

72 notes · View notes

a-room-of-my-own · 4 years ago

Note

Hi! Did you see the NewStasteman interview with Judith Butler? The way she framed the whole debate about gender is so depressing, I cannot believe it... And that's without going into the Rowling debate, the more I read about it on Twitter and tumblr and the most depressed I get. How can womanhood be reduced to a feeling anyone can claim?

https://www.newstatesman.com/international/2020/09/judith-butler-culture-wars-jk-rowling-and-living-anti-intellectual-times

I had not seen it so thank you for giving me the opportunity to read it. She’s really manipulative and that’s pretty scary honestly. I picked up a few examples to show you

“I want to first question whether trans-exclusionary feminists are really the same as mainstream feminists. (…) I want to first question whether trans-exclusionary feminists are really the same as mainstream feminists. (…)I think it is actually a fringe movement that is seeking to speak in the name of the mainstream, and that our responsibility is to refuse to let that happen.

It’s “our” responsibility to act on something she cannot prove? It’s quite easy to observe that trans-activists are an active minority within the feminist movement. On the other hand, it’s much harder to prove than most people support modern trans-activism in all its implications. She doesn’t give any source, proof or figures to support her claim but ask people to fight for it, nevertheless. That’s faith, not fact.

If we look closely at the example that you characterise as “mainstream” [the problem of men claiming to be trans to access women’s space] we can see that a domain of fantasy is at work, one which reflects more about the feminist who has such a fear than any actually existing situation in trans life.

Then again, no proof, when many gender critical bloggers have lists of dozens of examples of men using self-ID to access bathrooms, women’s shelters, women’s prisons, some of them sex offenders.

The feminist who holds such a view presumes that the penis does define the person, and that anyone with a penis would identify as a woman for the purposes of entering such changing rooms and posing a threat to the women inside. It assumes that the penis is the threat, or that any person who has a penis who identifies as a woman is engaging in a base, deceitful, and harmful form of disguise. This is a rich fantasy, and one that comes from powerful fears, but it does not describe a social reality.

That’s a lot of words to call women who are afraid of men “hysterical”. #sorority

Trans women are often discriminated against in men’s bathrooms, and their modes of self-identification are ways of describing a lived reality, one that cannot be captured or regulated by the fantasies brought to bear upon them. The fact that such fantasies pass as public argument is itself cause for worry.

Word salad that could be translated like this: our priority shouldn’t be protecting women from men, it should be accommodating men, because #notallmen are predators, so it would be very unfair to them, uwu. Men’s concerns should always be considered while women who are afraid are irrational.

I am not aware that terf is used as a slur.

I’m 99% sure that’s a lie, but okay.

I wonder what name self-declared feminists who wish to exclude trans women from women's spaces would be called? If they do favour exclusion, why not call them exclusionary?

Women who want to have spaces without men should be called exclusionary, because we define women based on their relationship with men and how they include them. Suuuuure.

If they understand themselves as belonging to that strain of radical feminism that opposes gender reassignment, why not call them radical feminists? My only regret is that there was a movement of radical sexual freedom that once travelled under the name of radical feminism, but it has sadly morphed into a campaign to pathologise trans and gender non-conforming peoples.

We’re not the ones telling you can cure a psychological problem with cross-sex hormones and amputations, but we are the one pathologizing trans and GNC people. That’s hi-la-rious.

My sense is that we have to renew the feminist commitment to gender equality and gender freedom in order to affirm the complexity of gendered lives as they are currently being lived.

Meaningless word salad > "women should let men redefine the word woman as they please"

Let us be clear that the debate here [between people who support JKR and others] is not between feminists and trans activists. There are trans-affirmative feminists, and many trans people are also committed feminists. So one clear problem is the framing that acts as if the debate is between feminists and trans people. It is not. One reason to militate against this framing is because trans activism is linked to queer activism and to feminist legacies that remain very alive today.

TLDR: Real feminist can only be trans-supporters.

Feminism has always been committed to the proposition that the social meanings of what it is to be a man or a woman are not yet settled. We tell histories about what it meant to be a woman at a certain time and place, and we track the transformation of those categories over time.

That’s gender for you Judith, not biological sex. Social identities vary, biological sex is a constant. Saying that isn't essentialism.

We depend on gender as a historical category, and that means we do not yet know all the ways it may come to signify, and we are open to new understandings of its social meanings. It would be a disaster for feminism to return either to a strictly biological understanding of gender or to reduce social conduct to a body part or to impose fearful fantasies, their own anxieties, on trans women...

“Women who are afraid of men are irrational” third instalment.

Their abiding and very real sense of gender ought to be recognised socially and publicly as a relatively simple matter of according another human dignity. The trans-exclusionary radical feminist position attacks the dignity of trans people.

Men are whoever they say they are, women are whoever men say they are.

One does not have to be a woman to be a feminist, and we should not confuse the categories. Men who are feminists, non-binary and trans people who are feminists, are part of the movement if they hold to the basic propositions of freedom and equality that are part of any feminist political struggle.

Many feminists consider that men can only be feminist allies, so the debate is clearly not settled.

When laws and social policies represent women, they make tacit decisions about who counts as a woman, and very often make presuppositions about what a woman is. We have seen this in the domain of reproductive rights. So the question I was asking then is: do we need to have a settled idea of women, or of any gender, in order to advance feminist goals?

Does “woman” need to have a *gasp* definition? Judith is saying it doesn’t. You’ll notice that she doesn’t say that anything about “man” not having a stable definition. She believes it’s possible to fight against misogyny while having no stable definition for what a woman is. Laughable.

I put the question that way… to remind us that feminists are committed to thinking about the diverse and historically shifting meanings of gender, and to the ideals of gender freedom. By gender freedom, I do not mean we all get to choose our gender. Rather, we get to make a political claim to live freely and without fear of discrimination and violence against the genders that we are.

Word salad > “we don’t get to choose our gender but we get to choose it I am very smart"

Many people who were assigned “female” at birth never felt at home with that assignment, and those people (including me) tell all of us something important about the constraints of traditional gender norms for many who fall outside its terms.

Many women have internalized misogyny and homophobia, which in turn had a huge impact on their sense of self and self-esteem, but that doesn’t mean they’re not women Judith. And I don’t think any woman who was forcefully married, who had her vulva mutilated for religious reasons, had to wear a veil since she was a toddler, or was sold as a child into prostitution ever “felt at home” with having been born a girl, you absolute unit.

Feminists know that women with ambition are called “monstrous” or that women who are not heterosexual are pathologised. We fight those misrepresentations because they are false and because they reflect more about the misogyny of those who make demeaning caricatures than they do about the complex social diversity of women. Women should not engage in the forms of phobic caricature by which they have been traditionally demeaned. And by “women” I mean all those who identify in that way.

That was going so well until the last sentence

I think we are living in anti-intellectual times, and that this is evident across the political spectrum.

JB, darling, just read your own word salad and get some self-awareness.

The quickness of social media allows for forms of vitriol that do not exactly support thoughtful debate. We need to cherish the longer forms.

Tell that to your supporters Miss I Wasn't Aware TERF Were A Slur.

I am against online abuse of all kinds. I confess to being perplexed by the fact that you point out the abuse levelled against JK Rowling, but you do not cite the abuse against trans people and their allies that happens online and in person.

Kindergarten argument, but sure. Also, yet again, no proof.

I disagree with JK Rowling's view on trans people, but I do not think she should suffer harassment and threats. Let us also remember, though, the threats against trans people in places like Brazil, the harassment of trans people in the streets and on the job in places like Poland and Romania – or indeed right here in the US.

“Threats against JKR are bad BUT have you seen what’s happening in Brazil?”. I’m sorry what? Also, could trans-activist please stop instrumentalizing Brazilian stats, since they reflect the situation of prostituted homosexual transsexuals ?

So if we are going to object to harassment and threats, as we surely should, we should also make sure we have a large picture of where that is happening, who is most profoundly affected, and whether it is tolerated by those who should be opposing it. It won’t do to say that threats against some people are tolerable but against others are intolerable.

NO ONE, literally NO ONE said that threats against trans people were acceptable. In fact, most, if not pretty much all threats, especially physical threats, don’t come from radical feminists, but from men. Basically, what she’s saying is “who cares about threats against JKR, trans people (men) matter more”.

If trans-exclusionary radical feminists understood themselves as sharing a world with trans people, in a common struggle for equality, freedom from violence, and for social recognition, there would be no more trans-exclusionary radical feminists.

♫ Kumbaya my Lord, Kumbaya ♪

It is a sad day when some feminists promote the anti-gender ideology position of the most reactionary forces in our society.

All radical feminists are right wingers, sure.

Anyway, it's terrible that this kind of article is taken seriously when it could be summed up as "women are irrational and hysterical, men can be women and redefine the word woman if they so wish"...

#Gender critical #Judith Butler #And that's sooo pompous #Way to hide the emptiness of your reasoning ma'am

54 notes · View notes

jcs-study · 3 years ago

Text

As promised, I'm feeding two birds with one hand. This post will cover both "Everything's Alright (Reprise)" and "I Don't Know How To Love Him." Conveniently enough, the 1992 Australian highlights banded them as a single track.

(The literal Nineties kid in me -- born at the start of the decade -- can't help loving how this arrangement of "...Love Him" sounds like a softer take on Luther Vandross' "Power of Love." Ah, the nostalgia feels...)

The Lyrics

EVERYTHING'S ALRIGHT (REPRISE)

MARY MAGDALENE TRY NOT TO GET WORRIED TRY NOT TO TURN ON TO PROBLEMS THAT UPSET YOU OH DON'T YOU KNOW EVERYTHING'S ALRIGHT YES EVERYTHING'S FINE

JESUS AND I THINK I SHALL SLEEP WELL TONIGHT LET THE WORLD TURN WITHOUT ME TONIGHT

MARY MAGDALENE CLOSE YOUR EYES CLOSE YOUR EYES AND FORGET ALL ABOUT US TONIGHT

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOVE HIM

MARY MAGDALENE I DON'T KNOW HOW TO LOVE HIM WHAT TO DO HOW TO MOVE HIM I'VE BEEN CHANGED YES, REALLY CHANGED IN THESE PAST FEW DAYS WHEN I'VE SEEN MYSELF I SEEM LIKE SOMEONE ELSE

I DON'T KNOW HOW TO TAKE THIS I DON'T SEE WHY HE MOVES ME HE'S A MAN HE'S JUST A MAN AND I'VE HAD SO MANY MEN BEFORE IN VERY MANY WAYS HE'S JUST ONE MORE

SHOULD I BRING HIM DOWN SHOULD I SCREAM AND SHOUT SHOULD I SPEAK OF LOVE LET MY FEELINGS OUT? I NEVER THOUGHT I'D COME TO THIS WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT?

DON'T YOU THINK IT'S RATHER FUNNY I SHOULD BE IN THIS POSITION? I'M THE ONE WHO'S ALWAYS BEEN SO CALM SO COOL NO LOVER'S FOOL RUNNING EVERY SHOW HE SCARES ME SO

I NEVER THOUGHT I'D COME TO THIS WHAT'S IT ALL ABOUT?

YET IF HE SAID HE LOVED ME I'D BE LOST I'D BE FRIGHTENED I COULDN'T COPE JUST COULDN'T COPE I'D TURN MY HEAD I'D BACK AWAY I WOULDN'T WANT TO KNOW HE SCARES ME SO I WANT HIM SO I LOVE HIM SO

The Plot

Jesus awakes with a start from his horrifying nightmare to find Mary Magdalene by his side, there to once again calm him down and reassure him that all is as it should be. With Jesus asleep in her arms, Mary contemplates her relationship with this man. She has never experienced love in her life before, and she realizes that her entire world has been turned upside down by Jesus.

The Analysis

To start this analysis from a character perspective, we need a reminder from the Historical Breakdown page.

Remember: at that time, women had virtually no rights, were not allowed to interact with men in most situations, could not discuss the events of the day, offer opinions; women didn't matter and were very much discriminated against in society. But Jesus was different from other men. He and his followers treated women as nearly full equals -- they ate together, discussed politics together, his women disciples performed their poetry at feasts, and in the most radical departure from the norm, the women were welcomed alongside men as serious students worthy of an education.

No wonder so many women found themselves amongst Jesus' closest followers traveling with him, and no wonder there were always several rich women around to finance the movement. This was a movement worth financing. They're not "camp followers"; this is sincere.

So, this is what drew Mary in. And she found a niche. These men only want to know about tomorrow, but Mary's focus is on today. All her life, she's had to figure out how to work and push and finagle, scheme and scrimp and save, how to get from one town to the next, how to eat on a buck... now it has a purpose and a focus beyond her own survival. She just wants to comfort Jesus and help him relax; the only way she knows how to do that is by soothing him physically. She bathes him in ointments and oils, rubs his feet, and massages his head and shoulders. Probably asks if he's eaten when he gets back to camp, and has something cooking already even if he says he's not hungry. The stuff most take for granted.

On a personal level, Jesus returns this affection by treating Mary with real respect, and genuine love, something almost unheard of. She takes care of things of immediate need, things that represent living in the moment: water, food, sleep, comfort, and peace of mind. He appreciates her efforts. And... it throws. Her. Completely.

This relationship goes against all social conventions! She's never been treated like this by a man, with such respect! How does she deal with this? How does she respond to his treatment of her? Her first impulse is to return that affection physically, but she knows that's not appropriate. She doesn't know how to express love without physical forms of affection; she literally does not know how to love this man.

"Should I bring him down" is a question loaded with meaning. She knows that she will soon lose him to the movement, either by merely losing his time as he gets busier and busier or because he'll be arrested. There are layers to "bring him down": should she load the baggage of her feelings on him at this pivotal moment and tell him exactly how she feels? Should she demand a place at his side no matter how busy he gets? Should she try to get him to pull back from the movement so that she can spend more time with him and so that he'll be safer? Then again, she wonders, what the hell would she do if he said he shared her feelings? To live up to that love might be more than she's capable of...

On the surface, it's a "tart with the heart" role. But dig deeper, and... just... what a rich situation for a female(-presenting) performer to play!

Spotlight on Songwriting

Since there are no revised lyrics to play with here, I was worried this post would be lean on material. Looking at that analysis I just offered, I was clearly wrong. But still, I thought some commentary from the lyricist was worth presenting. So, in a lengthy extract from his autobiography, here's Tim Rice talking about the origin of "...Love Him" as another song entirely, and how much the rewrite for JCS improved upon the first attempt:

Two tunes we had already used in flop ventures were resurrected [for JCS, and one was] "Kansas Morning" which was utterly transformed when it was turned into "I Don't Know How To Love Him." "Kansas Morning" had been a pop song we had written back in 1966 under our deal with Southern Music, which was unable to persuade anybody to record it. From the period when Andrew was paying more than indirect homage to classical composers in general, and to Mendelssohn in particular, the beautiful melody kicked off with a striking resemblance to the opening phrase of the second movement of Mendelssohn's Violin Concerto in E minor before moving off into true ALW originality. In its first incarnation (Andrew's that is, not Felix's) I lumbered the melody with truly awful lyrics. Noting that plenty of hits of the time featured American place names ("Massachusetts," "Lights Of Cincinnati," etc.) I concocted a complex storyline about a bloke in prison in Maine, dreaming of his home in Kansas. Maine was chosen because it rhymed with "brain."

I LOVE THE KANSAS MORNING KANSAS DAWN COMES TO GREET ME KANSAS WINDS SHIFT AND SIGH I CAN SEE YOU NOW, WE'RE FLYING HIGH KANSAS LOVE OF MINE I LONG FOR KANSAS MORNING KANSAS MIST AT MY WINDOW AND THE BIRDS THOSE LAZY BIRDS SING THEIR WORDLESS SONGS OF LOVE AGAIN KANSAS ON MY BRAIN I'M TRAPPED IN MAINE

And there was more, but that's quite enough. I occasionally sing this original version of "I Don't Know How To Love Him" during talks or after-dinner speeches and it always goes down superbly -- as a very funny example of abysmal songwriting. There is usually some wise guy at these functions who points out that there are plenty more examples from the Rice canon that have actually been inflicted upon the public as finished masterpieces. David Land had to buy the rights of "Kansas Morning" back from Southern Music which he did for £100. Southern must have been delighted to have made so much from one of the direst songs in their catalog, but of course, it was only the words that were dire. Version two of the song has gone on to earn literally hundreds of thousands of pounds, maybe more […] This episode shows how even a first-class melody can be dragged down by bad words. None of us (except possibly Andrew) really appreciated the potential of the tune. I didn't realize just how great it was until I managed to demonstrate it with decent lyrics. "Kansas Morning" [...] made a remarkable recovery.

I wrote the lyrics to "I Don't Know How To Love Him" in maybe just two or three hours at my parents' dining room table in Harpenden. Normally, love songs are the hardest to write, taking weeks, primarily because everything has been said so many times before, but also because the choice of vocabulary is much more limited than it would be in a novelty, humorous, or unromantic number. Slang, puns, and smart-arse gags are usually unsuitable too. By and large, the number of syllables a lyricist is given to express his passion is fewer when he is working with a potential ballad than with an up-tempo melody, so every word has to get straight to the point. The lyricist has to be extremely concise -- no room to ramble down entertaining sidetracks. All these restrictions are increased when the tune comes first, which was the case with virtually every line of Jesus Christ Superstar, indeed with almost everything Andrew and I ever wrote together. Yet these very problems can sometimes bring out the best in a lyric writer, and I believe this to have been the case with "I Don't Know How To Love Him."

It is always easier to write a lyric that is part of a larger story, as the situation of the singer is immediately apparent. Given the tune in isolation, I came up with "Kansas Morning," a sensationally grim love lyric, but knowing Mary's situation was that she did not know how to express her love for a remarkable man, there was little danger of such a disaster second time around. The title, just a prosaic statement any woman in that position might use, was strong and direct, leading me quickly to a natural succession of thoughts. It was not necessary to use a great deal of rhyme, usually the sign of a truly strong melody. I have often been guilty of excessive rhyme, which can sometimes distract from the message of the lyric, particularly if the rhyme can be seen coming a mile off. One of the greatest lyrics of all time, "Some Enchanted Evening" has no rhyme at all in its verses, and "I Don't Know How To Love Him" has very few.

The words were however contemporary with lines such as "I've had so many men before" and "so calm, so cool," identifying the song as a creation of the Seventies and ensuring that it did not seem out of place in the context of the rest of the work. I was somewhat disappointed when singers of later versions of the song sometimes changed "I've had so many men" to "I've loved so many men" -- an alteration that makes the entire song rather bland as if sung by a Mills and Boon reader rather than a woman of experience who has been around but never really fallen in love before.

I have always enjoyed writing songs from the feminine point of view, and many of my most successful lyrics have been for women, obviously written from observation rather than direct personal experience. I have never been (yet) a prostitute touched for the first time by true feeling for a man ("I Don't Know How To Love Him"), a wronged wife or distressed mistress ("I Know Him So Well"), a manipulative vamp ("I'd Be Surprisingly Good For You") or an older woman in love with a young gay man ("Ziggy" from Starmania) but these and other female-centered songs have been among those I am most proud of. Neither have I ever addressed a crowd of 100,000 from a balcony in Buenos Aires wearing an expensive dress and decked out in extravagant jewelry.

What can I add to that, except to say I'm glad he gave it another go!

Coming Up Next:

The exciting conclusion of Act One (most of the time anyway... more about that in the next installment), "Damned For All Time / Blood Money"!

#jcss #andrew lloyd webber #jesus christ superstar #tim rice #spotify #jcs #history #jesus christ super star #jesus christ super-star #song by song #kate ceberano #john farnham #everything's alright reprise #i don't know how to love him #Spotify

4 notes · View notes

dwellordream · 4 years ago

Text

“…Bertran is explicit – nothing in his view is of more value for a man (because, of course, this is all very gender-specific) than personal, direct martial valor. “No man is worth a thing / till he has given and gotten blow on blow” is a pretty direct statement (note that it is fairly clear from the rest of Bertran’s oeuvre that this extends to a snobby disdain for peasants and non-nobles whose occupation is not fighting). Elsewhere in his songs, Bertran declares “A young man who doesn’t feed on war soon becomes fat and rotten.” This is, of course, a striking view because of how different it is from our own – we generally expect the experience of combat to harm a person, whereas Bertran sees it as wholesome; stick a pin in that for now, we’ll come back to it in a moment.

The sort of martial valor that Bertran is interested in is also fundamentally personal valor. The laying of plans, creation of stratagems, the ordering of men, the motivation of the common soldiers – exactly the sort of tasks that occupy most ancient military manuals (including not just the Mediterranean tradition, but also the Chinese one) – don’t figure in at all. Of course those sorts of concerns were part of the training and culture of the aristocracy of the period (and other period sources bring them out better, though surely not to the degree as classical literature – there is a great deal of difference in the sorts of leadership different societies expect), but they are decidedly secondary. The only leadership Bertran’s ideal lord does is to lead other aristocrats by example in being the first to charge and attacking with reckless aggression.

It is also very much a specific form of valor: that of the armored, mounted aristocratic warrior. The common soldiery – the infantry – exist in Bertran only as targets and victims, and even then not very often! This is a deceptive pattern in medieval European literature: despite the continued presence (and indeed, often importance) of common infantry, the aristocrats who write to us tend to focus on the valor of the cavalrymen (which is to say, the valor of themselves) to the exclusion of the foot soldiers (a pattern which tend leads to atrophy in the infantry arm in many cases, for an overview see Lee, Waging War, ch. 5). For a sense of exactly what that battle experience might be like, I think Hergrim’s battle vignette on Reddit is quite good.

But inside of that specific framework, Bertran is quite clear: he thinks war is good, both that it improves a man, but also that it is simply a positive experience. How much of this is bravado? Some of it might be – it is politically and socially useful for Bertran to advertise his own attachment to war. Both because this is a way for him to drive a strong case in rallying his fellow aristocrats to go to war, but also because he lives in a society where martial valor is a source of uncomplicated positive social value. By advertising his devotion to war, Bertran is also essentially saying ‘I am unafraid, the meanest fellow in the room’ in company that very much values strength and fearlessness. But that stance only works if Bertran’s audience agrees on the first principle that the experience of war improves a person.

Now, you might be asking ‘how can Bertran think that?’ And, given that battle is supposed to be the formative experience for all of these aristocratic young men, how are there any left? Bertran cannot be in ignorance, after all, and we’ve already discussed why it is unlikely that he is simply painting a false portrait of a reality both he and his audience know far better than we do. And therein lies a number of our answers.

Let’s start with the second question – how are there any aristocrats left? By the 12th century, it isn’t because of massive promotion from outside; the ranks of the aristocracy are in the process of ossifying, with new entrants becoming rarer and rarer in much of Europe. Rather, what seems to be the case is that, for people like Bertran, the chance of dying in all of that war remained relatively low. In the first case, the style of warfare of the 12th century, oriented around raids and sieges, with relatively few large set-battles and relatively smaller armies – tended towards lower casualties in comparison to the warfare of other eras. See

...At the same time, it seems fairly clear that most of the dying that was happening wasn’t generally being done by the mounted aristocracy. It is easy to miss because the big exceptions like Courtrai (1302), Crecy (1346) or Agincourt (1415) stick so firmly in the mind, but these are both later than Bertran (during a period of significant military change that made such upsets more likely) but also notably by their exceptional nature. Looking at the lives of medieval aristocrats, it is hard not to notice that – compared to say, the Lost Generation – they tend to live a fairly long time despite their constant warfare.

Bertran himself, despite fighting almost continuously throughout his adult life survived to retire to a monastery in 1196 (probably in his fifties, age-wise). Now, to a degree, this may well be survivors bias – the aristocratic young men who weren’t very good at it and thus died in early adulthood do not cut memorable figures in our history. But the 12th century Occitan aristocracy was not limitless in size – this was a period where the European military aristocracies were increasingly closed to new entrants (and that aristocracy was never very large in absolute terms). And the degree to which high casualty events among the aristocracy remained shocking aberrations (events on a scale that would have been normal and unremarkable for antiquity or the early modern period) suggest that casualty rates among the mounted aristocrats probably did remain relatively low.

And it’s not hard to imagine why: these men were the best trained fellows on the battlefield, but more to the point, they were the best armored and also the most able to retreat if the battle went badly. Not only because they were on horses (but also because of that), but also because, for the men in the upper aristocracy, they had retinues of their own (less noble) fighting men arrayed around them. If the battle went badly, chances are the fellows being butchered in the retreat are the ones on foot. While infantry was written out from not only Bertran’s poems, but much of the literature of his day, it was still the infantry that did most of the dying in war.

Consequently, the idea that ‘war builds character’ is a lot easier to sustain if the sort of warfare a society (or in this case, a class within a society) engages in produces relatively low casualty rates over time. Now, I want to be clear that the word ‘relatively’ is carrying a lot of water in that sentence: these wars, while relatively lower casualty affairs are by no means bloodless, even for the aristocrats, armored on their equine-escape-pods. But the experience is radically different from WWI – which I keep returning to because it shapes our current discourse on the effects of war so strongly – where France saw 16% of its total deployed manpower killed (and another c. 50% wounded) in a four year period.

So while Bertran’s song is an expression of the values of his class, those values are in turn shaped by what the experience of war was like for that class. One imagines the commoners whose villages and towns were about to be plundered had different songs; agricultural raiding and devastation was a key part of the sort of warfare Bertran participated in (it shows up at points in his songs – in Miez sirventes vueilh far dels reis amdos he sings gleefully that once war begins, “never a mule-driver will travel the roads in safety, nor a burgher without fear, nor a merchant coming from France”).”

- Bret Devereaux, “A Trip Through Bertran de Born (Martial Values in the 12th Century Occitan Nobility).”

#bret devereaux #writing #history #medieval #high middle ages #warfare #medieval literature

6 notes · View notes

thexfridax · 4 years ago

Photo

Translated interview

Love and let love

Pamela Jahn, in: ray Filmmagazin, October 2019

// Additions or clarifications for translating purposes are denoted as [T: …]. //

Céline Sciamma’s brilliant ‘Portrait of a Lady on Fire’ opens the Viennale 2019. A talk with the French director about her ambitions, love and why you can do without men in her film.

She likes to think of herself as film activist [T: also see here], and looking at her work confirms this. Céline Sciamma is a force in French cinema, but this hasn’t yet created a ripple effect internationally. After her coming-of-age trilogy (Water Lilies, Tomboy, Girlhood), the French director and screenwriter Céline Sciamma now created an elegant but also radical period film with Portrait of a Lady on Fire. [T: Partly omitted short description of film] The two women slowly get closer to each other, determination turns into restraint, curiosity into desire, and Sciamma’s great skill is in making the intimacy between the characters tangible in a very sensual manner. Her brilliance and experience in utilising the cinematic art of seduction of all kinds make this film special, and it opens up a new perspective on the art of looking and thinking.

Interviewer: Part of the fascination for this film is in the process of discovery, the way that we, the audience, slowly get to know the face, the body, and the gestures of Héloïse. How did you develop this process from your perspective as screenwriter and director?

Céline Sciamma: First of all, it took a long time to write this. I don’t actually mean the writing itself but rather dreaming about it. The idea for the film came right after Girlhood, about five years ago. But then I allowed myself to just daydream about it for two, three years, without writing anything down, apart from a couple of notes, a page here and there, where I tried to find the right balance between the different approaches that I had in mind for the film. On the one hand, there was the idea that you implied, developing a choreography of discovery to show how someone falls in love with another person, and at the same time accurately convey this process through cinema with all its possibilities, step by step. In other words, I was interested in the joy of discovery, but also in the delay and frustrations that might occur with this. On the other hand, I also wanted to show the progression of a love story, its past, its future, this epic period of time where everything seems possible. I wanted to make a film about the dialogue of love, about its philosophy and poetry. And this takes time, to find the necessary balance, but also to steer the film in a direction that seems radical enough to me. It was important for me to find the right structure, in order to both integrate the dialogue of love and dialogue of art. That was my task, my personal mission. I had the ambition to convey all these ideas without becoming too theoretical. The film should seem playful instead, be exciting and fun – fun while filming and watching.

I: Were you inspired by certain paintings for the aesthetics of the film?

CS: My cinematographer and I, we discussed the lighting and the framing for a long time, and at one point [T: she] said: ‘Okay, let’s do this, we won’t consciously set it up like a painting, but secretly we both know it’s exactly like that.’ This means we didn’t tell ourselves that the whole thing should look exactly like a painting by Georges de La Tour or whoever [T: also see here, a pipe and a candle, hmm]. Quite the opposite. Our references came primarily from cinema, especially when it was about lighting a film with candles. But we were of course aware that everyone would say afterwards that it looks like it was painted. Cinema is about similar things after all: It is about lighting, composition, faces and silhouettes. There were no real references to paintings apart from one, but it was rather anachronistic, because it wasn’t from the same period as the film was set in. However, we always had to think about [Jean-Baptiste-Camille] Corot, a French painter from the 19th century, who mostly painted landscapes. But he also did a few paintings of women, women in landscapes. And we were quite thrilled about the way that the light seems to radiate from the figures in his pictures [T: also see here]. The figures somehow illuminate the painting, and we worked hard to create a similar effect with the colours and the clothes of the characters. [T: Also see here for an in-depth article on the cinematography of the film]

I: What were your film references?

CS: Barry Lyndon had certainly the biggest influence, not only on me, but on cinema in general, when it comes to lighting a period film. It doesn’t mean that we should do exactly the same as Kubrick did. Barry Lyndon is a film with an incredible amount of ideas, which make you think, and it’s a film that gives you more courage in what you do. That means, instead of duplicating something it’s rather about developing a standard, which you don’t have to necessarily adopt, but you can work towards it. And for that we developed our own methods to create a certain mood and aesthetics. Just like Kubrick who invented a lot for his film. He even came up with his own lens, so that he can produce the atmosphere he wanted. We made things and thought about finding a way to manage without candles in the picture, which was decided very early on. [T: also see here, here or here for Barry Lyndon]

I: The setting plays an important role in both films, Kubrick’s and yours. It develops its own character, in a way.

CS: That’s true. The building where we filmed had an unbeatable advantage: It hadn’t really been touched for years. It’s an old suburban city hall in the municipality of La Chapelle-Gauthier, about 70 km from Paris [T: also see here, h/t @podcastofaladyonfire]. When we found it, [T: we] weren’t quite sure. It seemed like a place from another time. But as soon as we stepped into it, we knew how it was. We also knew that everything should remain as it was. That’s not very common, because it’s usually about reconstructing the period in a period film, in which the story is set, so that you achieve the highest possible degree of authenticity and truthfulness. Apart from that, I mostly made all of my films in the studio. The apartments, where my protagonists lived, were all recreated. And now I suddenly had to struggle with a fourth wall. It would have made more sense not to film on an original location. It’s a paradox, but I really like it.

I: You made another conscious decision, which was mostly excluding men from your film.

CS: Yes, that was already clear from the outset. It wasn’t like I only killed the men in the cutting room. The main reason for this was that I wanted to tell a love story that is lived. And I wanted to talk about the possibility of their love, not about the impossibility. If I had included men, then it wouldn’t have worked, because the limits of what is possible would have been all too visible. We are very familiar with these limitations and I think, we don’t have to constantly talk about them. I wanted to give these women the necessary space to express themselves and fully live out their love. In other words: I wanted to give them time to imagine what their lives could look like in a world where they don’t have to constantly assert themselves against men.

I: Especially against men that try to interfere with their love.

CS: Exactly. I consciously avoided this conflict. I also didn’t want the two of them to question whether their love story is really possible or not. But that is a question of dramaturgy, not of gender. For me, it was about telling the story in a way that gives them the greatest possible liberty, but which they don’t have in reality. This is not only an imagined liberty but a very tangible one. Fundamentally, it is just another way to point out the limitations that clearly exist for both women. It’s just that we don’t show [T: these limitations], because they are quite obvious. I had the feeling that both women couldn’t imagine another life. Why should I put them in a situation where they fight a battle they cannot win anyway?

I: It seems that going back to the 18th century gave you more liberty to tell the story.

CS: Yes, it really was a liberating process for me, too. A process that made me more courageous as director. Even though, my films were always strongly anchored in the presence, and were in that sense bold, because they were politically motivated. This time I wanted to go a step further, not least because it’s about a female artist at work. The film was meant to playfully deal with the theme, so that you also see my own love for cinema. This is why it seems so intimate at times. Not because I tell my personal story, but because I keep my work less under wraps, treat it less like a secret but reveal it more as a gift.

I: It’s interesting that you not only excluded men but also didn’t include music so much.

CS: That was also a choice that I made in the beginning, or rather had to, because it meant that I had to write the script with this [T: exclusion] in mind. It doesn’t mean that a film without music cannot be musical as well. But you write differently. And it means that you have to show a strong sense of rhythm on set. That wasn’t a problem for me, because I’m anyway obsessed with rhythm. Deciding against music wasn’t meant to be for the challenge, but I wanted to put the audience into a state, where art is also inaccessible to them. So that listening to music will also become precious. The film is about the relationship between art and love, and how important art is for our lives. Listening is therefore meant to become an organic experience. For me, it was about showing that you can reclaim cinema with the power of music [T: also listen to this or this… I have no regrets 😁]. If you really think about it: The piece by Vivaldi, which is in the film, is a hymn, but it’s also typical music when you’re put on hold. It was really exciting to create an atmosphere where you rediscover this piece, which you heard so many times, and in a completely different context and with a new image in mind [T: the most heartbreaking scene ever, here goes Vivaldi, also see here].

I: The last scene of the film is breathtaking. But I can also imagine that it was a huge effort for you as well as for Adèle Haenel to hold this shot for such a long time.

CS: To be honest, that was the most important and most difficult shot that I ever filmed. And with difficult I also mean technically, because you have to ensure that the focus is retained. The poor guy, who had to take care of that, was in a cold sweat during the entire take. It’s not Hollywood after all. This means, he had to sit on a small chair, which was attached to a self-made vehicle that a couple of other men had to slowly move across the room towards Adèle. Everything was extremely improvised. But that’s what cinema is also about: technique. You create something with whatever you have at your disposal, so that there is this brief magical moment on screen, which moves people.

I: Did you also know from the beginning that you wanted to conclude the film with this shot?

CS: Yes, it was the first image that I had in mind, when I started writing. It is one of those images that push you forward, when the doubts overwhelm you. And believe me, I gave up on this film more than once [T: 😱 😌]. But I always knew that if [T: the film came to life], then it should end like this. For me, this image represents a mix of joie de vivre and ancient dream [T: the text says ‘pures Leben’ or pure life, which has more of a positive connotation in German]. I can’t describe it any better. Perhaps it is the last secret that still remains for me.

—

Picture source: [1 / Julien Lienard/Contour by Getty Images]

#ray Filmmagazin #Céline Sciamma #Portrait of a Lady on Fire #October 2019 #Austrian interview #IDK this interview warmed my heart #The relationship between art cinema and music #DIY approach to film #Her ideas and their execution #That last scene #That last secret...#Thank you for your gift Céline #My translation #long post

42 notes · View notes

innuendostudios · 5 years ago

Video

youtube

The newest installment of The Alt-Right Playbook - Endnote 4: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship - is a little different. This installment was presented live at Solidarity Lowell, and includes a bonus Q&A section. This video expands on the ideas put forth in How to Radicalize a Normie.

If you would like more videos like this to come out, please back me on Patreon.

Transcript below the cut.

He is intriguing, yet unpredictable. He demands unconditional loyalty. He seems to have an intuitive understanding of what people want to hear but no actual empathy; he treats others as simply bodies or objects. And he’s surrounded by a network of subordinates but the personnel is always changing.

Does it sound like I’m describing The President? Because these are, according to Alexandra Stein, qualities of a cult leader.

Hi. My name is Ian Danskin. I’m a video essayist and media artist. I run the YouTube channel Innuendo Studios, the flagship endeavor of which is currently The Alt-Right Playbook, a series on the political and rhetorical strategies the Alt-Right uses to legitimize itself and gain power. And, if that sounds interesting to you, and you haven’t already, please like share and subscribe.

The most recent episode of The Alt-Right Playbook is about how people get recruited into these largely online reactionary communities like the Alt-Right, a subject which, as it turns out, is real fuckin’ hard to research.

What I want to talk about with you today is how I go about studying a population that is incredibly hostile towards being studied. It involves finding the bits and pieces of the Alt-Right that we do have data on - the pockets of good research, the outsider observations, the stories of lived experience - as well as looking at older movements the Alt-Right grew out of, that have been extensively researched, and spotting the ways the Alt-Right is continuous with them, and trying to extrapolate how those structures might recreate themselves in the social media age.

So it’s… a lot. And, in the process of researching, I found a wealth of interesting perspectives that, by focusing the video on recruitment specifically, I barely dipped a toe in. All that stuff is what I’d like to get into with you today. But I’m trying to thread a needle here: you don’t need to have seen my video, How to Radicalize a Normie, to follow this talk, but, if you have seen it already, I will try not to be redundant. This talk is one part making my case for why I think the conclusions in that video are correct, one part repository for all the stuff I couldn’t get into, and one part how I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right as a result of this research, including some pet theories I wouldn’t feel right claiming as truth without further research, but I do think are on the right track.

This talk is called Isolation, Engulfment, and Pain: How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship. We’re going to cover a lot of ground, from information processing to emotional development, but we’re necessarily also going to cover racism and violence and abuse dynamics. So this is an introduction and a content warning: if some of these subjects are particularly charged for you, no offense will be taken if you at any point leave the room. I have to research this stuff for a living, and it is rough, and sometimes I have to step away. We don’t judge here.

Now. Requisite dash of self-deprecation: don’t give me too much credit for all this. I am proud of the work I do and I think I’m genuinely good at it, but much of this video was compiling the work of others. Besides research I had already done and my own observations, the video had 27 sources: three books, five research papers, six articles, one leaked document, three testimonials, four videos, four pages of statistics, and one Twitter joke. I also spoke to four professional researchers who study right-wing extremism and one former Alt-Righter.

Without all their hard work, I would have nothing to compile.

OK? Let’s begin.

We’re gonna center on those three main texts: Alt-America by David Neiwert, a history of the Alt-Right’s origins; Healing from Hate by Michael Kimmel, about how young men get into (and out of) extremist groups, be they neo-Nazi or jihadist; and Terror, Love and Brainwashing by Alexandra Stein, about how people are courted by and kept inside cults and totalitarian regimes.

I began with Kimmel. The premise of Healing from Hate is that extremist groups tend to be between 75 and 90% male, and that you cannot understand radical conservatism without looking at it through the lens of toxic masculinity. Which makes it all the more disappointing that Kimmel has been accused by multiple women of bullying and harassment. I found the book incredibly useful, and we’re still going to talk about it, I just need to caveat here that retweets are not endorsements. Also, if I spoil the book for you then you don’t need to buy it, give your money to someone who isn’t a creep.

Kimmel’s argument is that extremism begins with a pain peculiar to young men. He calls it “aggrieved entitlement.” I call it Durden Syndrome. You know that scene in Fight Club where Tyler Durden says, “We’ve all been raised on television to believe that one day we’d all be millionaires and movie gods and rockstars, but we won’t, we’re slowly learning that fact, and we are very, very pissed off”? Yeah, that. As men, the world promised us something, and the promise wasn’t kept.

Some men skew towards social progressivism when they realize this promise was never made to women, or men of color, or queer or trans or nonbinary people, and recognize the injustice of that. Some men skew towards economic leftism when they realize that every cishet white man being a millionaire rockstar movie god is mathematically impossible. But they skew towards reactionary conservatism when they feel the promise should have been kept. That’s the life they were supposed to have, and someone took it from them.

Hate groups appeal to that sense of emasculation. “You wanna feel like a Real Man? Shave off your hair, dance to hatecore, and let’s beat the crap out of someone.” Kimmel notes that the greatest indicator someone will join a hate group is a broken home: divorce, foster care, parents with addictions, physical or sexual abuse. The greater the distance between the life they were promised and the life they are living, the more enticing Real Masculinity becomes. Their fellow extremists are brothers, the leaders father figures.

The group does give them someone to blame for their lot in life - immigrants, feminists, the Jewish conspiracy - but that’s not why they join. They’re after empowerment. According to Kimmel, “Their embrace of neo-Nazi ideology is a consequence of their recruitment and indoctrination process, not its cause."

But once an Other has been identified as the locus of a hate group’s hate, new recruits are brought along when the group terrorizes that Other. Events like cross burnings and street fights are dangerous and morally fraught, and are often traumatic for a new recruit. And experiencing an emotional or physical trauma can create an intense bond with the people experiencing it with him, even though they’re the ones who brought him to the traumatic event in the first place. The creation of this bond is one of the reasons some hate groups usher new recruits out into the field as early as possible: the sooner they are emotionally invested in the community, the faster they will embrace the community’s politics.

This Othering also estranges recruits from the people they are supposed to hate, which makes it hard to stop hating them.

So there’s this concept that comes up a lot in my research called Contact Hypothesis. Contact Hypothesis argues that, the more contact you have with a different walk of life, the easier it is to tolerate it. It’s like exposure therapy. We talk about how big cities and college campuses tend to be liberal strongholds; the Right likes to claim this is because of professors and politicians poisoning your mind, but it’s really just because they’re diverse. When you share space with a lot of different kinds of people, a degree of liberalism becomes necessary just to get by. And we see that belief systems which rely on a strict orthodoxy get really cagey about members having contact with outsiders. We see this in all the groups we’re discussing today - extremists, cultists, totalitarians - but also religious fundamentalists; Mormons only wanna send their kids to Brigham Young. They are belief systems that can only be reliably maintained so long as no one gets exposed to other people with other beliefs.

So that’s some of what I took from Kimmel. Next I read Stein talking, primarily, about cults.

Stein’s window into all of this is applying the theory of Attachment Styles to what researchers calls totalism, which is any structure that subsumes a person’s entire life the way cults and totalitarian governments do. Attachment is a concept you may be familiar with if have, or have ever dated, a therapist. (I’ve done both.)

So, for a quick primer:

Imagine you’re walking in the park with a three-year-old. And the three-year-old sees a dog, and ask, “Can I pet the dog?” And you say yes, and the kid steps away from your side and reaches out. And the dog gets excited, and jumps up, and the kid gets scared and runs back to you. So you hold the kid and go, “Oh, no no no, don’t worry! They’re not gonna hurt you! They were just happy to see you!” And you take a few moments to calm the kid down, and then you ask, “Do you still want to pet the dog?” And the kid says “yes,” so they step away from you again and reach out. The dog jumps up again, but this time the kid doesn’t run away, and they pet the dog, and you, the kid, and the dog are all happy. Hooray!

This is a fundamental piece of a child’s emotional development. They take a risk, have a negative experience, and retreat to a point of comfort. Then, having received that comfort, feel bolstered enough to take a slightly greater risk. A healthy childhood is steadily venturing further and further from that point of comfort, and taking on greater risks, secure in the knowledge that safety is there when they need it. And, as an adult, they will form many interdependent points of comfort rather than relying on only one or two.

If all goes according to plan, that is Secure Attachment. But: sometimes things go wrong when the kid seeks comfort and doesn’t get enough. This may be because the adult is withholding or the kid doesn’t know how to express their needs or they’re just particularly fearful. But the kid may start seeking comfort more than seems reasonable, and be particularly averse to risk, and over-focus on the people who give them comfort, because they’re operating at a deficit. We call that Anxious Attachment. Alternately, the kid may give up on receiving comfort altogether, even though they still need it, and just go it alone, developing a distrust of other people and a fear of being vulnerable. We call that Avoidant Attachment.

Now, these styles are all formed in early childhood, but Stein focuses on a fourth kind of Attachment, one that can be formed at any age regardless of the Attachment Style you came in with. It’s what happens when the negative experience and the comfort come from the same place. We see it in children and adults who are mistreated by the people they trust. It’s called Disorganized Attachment.

According to Stein, cults foster Disorganized Attachment by being intensely unpredictable. In a cult, you may be praised for your commitment on Monday and have your commitment questioned on Tuesday, with no change in behavior. You may be assigned a romantic partner, who may, at any point, be taken away, assigned to someone else. Your children may be taken from you to be raised by a different family. You may be told the cult leader wants to sleep with you, which may make you incredibly happy or be terrifying, but you won’t be given a choice. And the rules you are expected to follow will be rewritten without warning.

This creates a kind of emotional chaos, where you can’t predict when you will be given good feelings and when you will be given bad ones. But you’re so enmeshed in the community you have noplace else to go for good feelings; hurting you just draws you in deeper, because they are also where you seek comfort. And your pain is always your fault: you wouldn’t feel so shitty if you were more committed. Trying to make sense of this causes so much confusion and anguish that you eventually just stop thinking for yourself. These are the rules now? OK. He’s not my brother anymore? OK. This is my life now? OK.

Hardly anyone would seek out such a dynamic, which is why cults present as religions, political activists, and therapy groups; things people in questioning phases of their lives are liable to seek out, and then they fall down the rabbit hole before they know what’s happening. The cult slowly consumes more and more of a recruit’s life, and tightly controls access to relationships outside the cult, because the biggest threat to a Disorganized Attachment relationship is having separate, Securely Attached points of comfort.

And at this point I said, “Hold up. You’re telling me cults recruit by offering people community and purpose in times of need, become the focal point of their entire lives, estrange them from all outside perspectives, and then cause emotional distress that paradoxically makes them more committed because they have nowhere else to go for support?”

Isn’t that exactly how Kimmel described joining a hate group?

Now, these are commonalities, not a one-to-one comparison. A cult is far more organized and rigidly controlled than a hate group. But Stein points out that this dynamic of isolation, engulfment, and pain is the same dynamic as an abusive relationship. The difference is just scale. A cult is functionally a single person having a very complex domestic abuse situation with a whole lot of people, #badpolyamory.

So if we posit a spectrum with domestic abuse on one end and cults and totalitarianism on the other, I started wondering, could we put extremist groups, like ISIS and Aryan Nations, around… here?

And, if so, where would we put the Alt-Right?

Now, I have to tread carefully here. There are reasons this talk is called “How the Alt-Right is Like an Abusive Relationship” and not “How the Alt-Right is Like a Cult,” because the moment you say the second thing, a lot of people stop listening to you. Our conception of cults and totalitarianism is way more controlled and structured than a pack of loud, racist assholes on the internet. But we’re not talking about organizational structure, we’re talking about a relationship, an emotional dynamic Stein calls “anxious dependency,” which fosters an irrational loyalty to people who are bad for you and gets you to adopt an ideology you would have previously rejected. (I would also love to go on a rant puncturing the idea that cultists and fascists are organized, pointing out this notion is propaganda and their systems are notoriously corrupt and mismanaged, but we don’t have time; ask me about it in the Q&A if you want me to go off.)

So I started looking through what I knew, and what I could find, about the Alt-Right to see if I could spot this same pattern of isolation, engulfment, and pain online funneling people towards the Alt-Right. And I did not come up short.

Isolation? Well, the Alt-Right traffics in all the same dehumanizing narratives about their enemies as Kimmel’s hate groups - like, the worst things you can imagine a human being saying about a group of people are said every day in these forums. They often berate and harass each other for any perceived sympathy towards The Other Side. They also regularly harass people from The Other Side off of platforms, and falsely report their tweets, posts, and videos as terrorism to get them taken down. (This has happened to me, incidentally.) I found figureheads adored by the Alt-Right who expressly tell people to cut ties with liberal family members.

We talked before about Contact Hypothesis? There’s also this idea called Parasocial Contact Hypothesis. A parasocial relationship is a strong emotional connection that only goes one way, like if you really love my videos and have started thinking of me almost as a friend even though I don’t know you exist? Yeah. Parasocial relationship. They’ve been in The Discourse lately, largely thanks to my friend Shannon Strucci making a really great video about them (check it out, I make a cameo, but… clear your schedule). Parasocial Contact Hypothesis is this phenomenon where, if people form parasocial feelings for public figures or even fictional characters, and those people happen to be Black, white audience members become less racist similar to how they would if they had Black friends. Your logical brain knows that these are strangers, but your lizard brain doesn’t know the difference between empathy for a queer friend and empathy for a queer character in a video game. So of course the Alt-Right makes a big stink about queer characters in video games, and leads boycotts against “forced diversity,” because diverse media is bad for recruitment.

Engulfment? Well, I learned way too much about how the Alt-Right will overtake your entire internet life. There was a paper made the rounds last year by Rebecca Lewis charting the interconnectedness of conservative YouTube. (Reactionaries really hated this paper because it said things they didn’t like.) Lewis argues that, once you enter what she calls the Alternative Influence Network, it tends to keep you inside it. Start with some YouTuber conservatives like but who’s branded as a moderate, or even a “classic liberal.” Take someone like Dave Rubin; call Dave Rubin Alt-Right, people yell at you, I speak from experience. Well, Dave Rubin’s had Jordan Peterson on his show, so, if you watch Rubin, Peterson ends up in your recommendations. Peterson has been on the Joe Rogan show, so, you watch Peterson, Rogan ends up in your recommendations. And Rogan has interviewed Gavin McInnes, so you watch Rogan and McInnes ends up in your recommendations.

Gavin McInnes is the head of the Proud Boys, a self-described “western chauvinist” organization that’s mostly known for beating up liberals and leftists. They have ties to neo-fascist groups like Identity Evropa and neo-fascist militias like the Oath Keepers, they run security for white nationalists, and their lawyer just went on record that he identifies as a fascist. And, if you’re one of these kids who has YouTube in the background with autoplay on, and you’re watching Dave Rubin? You might be as few as 3 videos away from watching Gavin McInnes.

There’s a lot of talk these days about algorithms funneling people towards the Right, and that’s not wrong, but it’s an oversimplification. The real problem is that the Right knows how to hijack an algorithm.

I also learned about the Curation/Search Radicalization Spiral from a piece by Mike Caulfield. Caulfiend uses the horrific example of Dylann Roof. You remember him? He shot up a church in a Black neighborhood a few years ago. Roof says he was radicalized when he googled “Black on white crime” and saw the results. Now, if you search the phrase “crime statistics by demographic,” you will find fairly nonpartisan results that show most crimes are committed against members of the perpetrator’s own race, and Black people commit crimes against white people at about the same rate as any other two demographics. But that specific phrase, “Black on white crime,” is used almost exclusively by white racists, and so Roof’s first hit wasn’t a database of crime statistics, it was the Council of Conservative Citizens. Now, the CCC is an outgrowth of the White Citizens Councils of the 50’s and 60’s which rebranded in ‘85. They publish bogus statistics that paint Black people as uniquely violent. And they introduce a number of other politically-loaded phrases - like, say, “Muslim fertility rates” - that nonpartisan sites don’t use, and so, if Roof googles them as well, he gets similarly weighted results.

I have tons more examples of this stuff. I literally don’t have time to show it all. Like, have you heard of Google bombing? That’s a thing I didn’t know existed. The point is, the same way search engines tailor your results to what they think you want, once you scratch the surface of the Alt-Right they are highly adept at making it so, whenever you go online, their version of reality is all you know and all you see.

Finally, pain. This was the difficult one. Can you create a Disorganized Attachment relationship over the internet with a largely faceless and decentralized movement? I pitched the idea to one the researchers I spoke to, and he said, “That sounds very plausible, and nearly impossible to research.” See, cults and hate groups? They don’t wanna talk to researchers anymore than the Alt-Right wants to talk to me. Stein and Kimmel get their data by speaking to formers, people who’ve exited these movements and are all too happy to share how horrible they were. But the Alt-Right is still very young, and there just aren’t that many formers yet.

I found some testimonials, and they mostly back up my hypothesis, but there’s not enough that I could call them statistically significant. So I had to look where the data was.

My fellow YouTuber ContraPoints made a video last year - in my opinion, her best one - about incels (that’s “involuntary celibate,” men who can’t get laid). Incel forums tend to be deeply misogynistic and antifeminist, and have a high overlap with the Alt-Right. If you remember Elliot Rodger, he was an incel. Contra’s observation was that these forums were incredibly fatalistic: you are too ugly and women too shallow for you to ever have sex, so you should give up. She described a certain catharsis, like picking a really painful scab, in hearing other people voice your worst fears. But there was no uplift; these communities seemed to have a zero-tolerance policy for optimism. She likened it so some deeply unhealthy trans forums she used to visit, where people wallowed in their own dysphoria.

And I remembered the forums I researched five years ago in preparation for my video on GamerGate. (If you don’t know what GamerGate was, I will not rob you of your precious innocence. But, in a lot of ways, GamerGate was the trial run for what the Alt-Right has become.) These forums were full of angry guys surrounding themselves with people saying, “You’re right to be angry.” And, yeah, if everywhere else you go treats your anger as invalid, that scratches an itch. But I never saw any of them calm down. They came in angry and they came out angrier. And most didn’t have anywhere else to vent, so they all came back.

I found a paper on Alt-Right forums that described a similar type of nihilism, and another on 8chan. What humor was on these sites was always shocking, furiously punching down, and deeply self-referential, but it didn’t seem like anyone was expected to laugh anymore, just, you know, catch the reference. I found one testimonial saying that having healthy relationships in these spaces is functionally impossible, and the one former I talked to said, yeah, when the Alt-Right isn’t winning everyone’s miserable.

So I think it might fit. The place they go for relief also makes them unhappy, so they come back to get relief again, and it just repeats. Same reason people stay with abusers. I wanna look into this further, so, I’ll just say this part to the camera: if there are any researchers watching who wanna study this, get at me.

Finally, I read Alt-America by David Neiwert, a supremely useful book that I highly recommend if you wanna know how the Alt-Right is the natural outgrowth of the militia and Patriot movements of the 90’s and early 2000’s, not to mention the Tea Party. Neiwert also does an excellent job illustrating how conspiracism serves to fill in the gap between the complexity of the modern world and the simplistic, might-makes-right worldview of fascism.

Neiwert also provides an interesting piece of the puzzle, suggesting what people are actually looking for when they get recruited. He references work done by John Bargh and Katelyn McKenna on Identity Demarginalization. Bargh and McKenna looked at the internet habits of people whose identities are both devalued in our society and invisible. By invisible, what I mean is, ok, if you’re a person of color, our society devalues your identity, but you can look around a room and, within a certain margin of error, see who else is POC, and form community with them if you wish. But, if you’re queer, you can’t see who else in a room is queer unless one of you runs up a flag. And revealing yourself always means taking on a certain amount of risk that you’ve misread the signals, that the person you reveal yourself to is not only not queer, but a homophobe.

According to Bargh and McKenna, people in this situation are much more likely to seek online spaces that self-select for that identity. A fan forum for RuPaul’s Drag Race is maybe a safer place to come out and find community. And people tend to get very emotionally tied to these online spaces where they can be themselves.

Neiwert points out that the same phenomenon happens among privileged people who have identities that are devalued even as they’re not actually oppressed. Say, nerds, or conservatives in liberal towns, or men who don’t fit traditional notions of masculinity. They are also likely to deeply invest themselves in online spaces made for them. And if the Far Right can build such a community, or get a foothold in one that already exists, it is very easy to channel that sense of marginalization into Durden Syndrome. I connected this with Rebecca Lewis’ observation that the Alternative Influence Network tends to present itself as nerd-focused life advice first and politics second, and the long history of reactionaries recruiting from fandoms.

So I can see all the pieces of the abuse dynamic being recreated here: offer you something you need, estrange you from other perspectives and healthy relationships, overtake your life, and provoke emotional distress that makes you seek comfort only your abuser is offering. And I found a lot more parallels than what I’m sharing right now, I only have half an hour! But the thing that’s missing that’s usually central to such a system is, an abusive relationship orbits around the abuser, a cult around the cult leader, a totalitarian government around a dictator. They are built to serve the whims of an individual. But I look at the ad hoc nature of the Alt-Right and I have to ask: who is the architect?

I can see a lot of people profiting off of this structure; our current President rode it to great success, but he didn’t build it. It predates him. It’s more like Kimmel’s hate groups, which don’t promote an individual so much as a class of individuals, but, even then, their structure is much more deliberate, designed, where the Alt-Right seems almost improvised.

Well… one observation I took from Stein is that cult recruiters often rely on two different kinds of propaganda: the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche. The diatribe is when someone talks at length, sounds smart, and seems to know what they’re talking about but isn’t actually making sense, and the thought-terminating cliche comes from Robert Jay Lifton’s studies into brainwashing. So, I went vegetarian in middle school, and, when I would tell other kids I was vegetarian, some would get kind of defensive and say things like, “humans aren’t meant to be vegetarian, it’s the food chain.” Now, saying “it’s the food chain” isn’t meant to be a good argument, it’s meant to communicate “I have said something so axiomatically true that the argument need not continue.” That’s a thought-terminating cliche; something that may not be true, but feels true and gives you permission to think about something else.

Both these techniques rely on what’s called Peripheral-Route Processing. So, I’m up here talking about politics, and, Solidarity Lowell, you are a group of politically-engaged people, so you probably have enough context to know whether I’m talking out of my ass. That’s Direct-Route Processing, where you judge the contents of my argument. But if I were up here talking about string theory, you might not know whether I was talking out of my ass because there’s only so many people on Earth who understand string theory. So then you might look at secondary characteristics of my argument: the fact that I’ve been invited to speak on string theory implies I know what I’m talking about; maybe I put up a lot of equations and drop the names of mathematicians and say they agree with me; maybe I just sound really authoritative. All that’s Peripheral-Route Processing: judging the quality of my argument by how it’s delivered.

Every act of communication involves both, but if you’re trying to sell people on something that’s fundamentally irrational, you’re going to rely heavily on Peripheral-Route tactics, which is what the winding diatribe and the thought-terminating cliche are.

I noted that these two methods mapped pretty cleanly onto the rhetorical stylings of Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro. But here’s the question: cults use these techniques to recruit people. But can I say with any confidence that Jordan Peterson and Ben Shapiro are trying to recruit people into the Alt-Right?

The thing is, “Alt-Right” isn’t a term like “klansman.” It’s more akin to a term like “modernism.” It’s a label applied to a trend. In the same way we debate the line between modernism and postmodernism, we debate the line between Right and Alt-Right. People don’t sign up to be in the Alt-Right, you are Alt-Right if you say you’re Alt-Right. But the nature of the Alt-Right is that 90% of them would never admit to it.

So are Peterson and Shapiro intentionally recruiting for the Alt-Right? Are they grifters merely profiting off of the Alt-Right? Are they even aware they’re recruiting for the Alt-Right? Part of my work has been accepting that you can’t know for sure. It would be naive to say they’re unaware; when they give speeches they get Nazis in their Q&A sections, and they know that. But how aware are they? I suspect Shapiro moreso than Peterson, but that’s just my gut talking and I can’t prove it. Like 90% of the Alt-Right, it’s debatable.

I don’t know if they’re trying to be part of this system, I just know they’re not trying not to be.

A final academic term before we say goodnight that’s been making the rounds among lefty YouTubers is “Stochastic Terrorism.” There’s a really great video about this by the channel NonCompete called The PewDiePipeline. Stochastic Terrorism is the myriad ways you can increase the likelihood that someone will commit violence without actually telling them to. You simply create an environment in which lone wolf violence becomes more acceptable and appealing. It mirrors the structure of terrorism without the control or culpability.

And I hear about this, and I look at this recruitment structure I see approximated in the Alt-Right, and I remember something I learned much earlier in my research, from Bob Altemeyer in his book The Authoritarians. Altemeyer has been studying authoritarianism for decades, he has a wealth of data, and one thing he observes is that authoritarianism is the few exerting power over the many, which means there are two types of authoritarians: the ones who lead and the ones who follow. Turns out those are completely different personality profiles. Followers don’t want to be in charge, they want someone to tell them what to do, to say “you’re the good guys,” and put them in charge of punishing the bad guys. They don’t even care who the bad guys are; part of the appeal is that someone else makes that judgment for them.

So if you can encourage a degree of authoritarian sentiment in people, get them wanting nothing more than to be ensconced in a totalist system that will take their agency away from them, putting them in the orbit of an authoritarian leader, but no leader presents themself… can you just kind of… appoint one?

Like, if you don’t have a leader, can you just find yourself an authoritarian and treat him like one? And, if he doesn’t give you enough directives, can you just make some up? And, if you don’t have recruiters, can you find a conservative who speaks in thought-terminating cliches just because he thinks they win arguments; find a conservative who speaks in meaningless diatribes because he thinks he’s making sense; and then maneuver those speeches and videos in front of people you want to recruit? If you’re sick of waiting for Moses to come down the mountain with the Word of God, can you just build your own god from whatever’s handy?

Every piece of this structure, you can find people, algorithms, and arguments that, put in sequence, can generate Disorganized Attachment whether they’re trying to or not, which makes every part plausibly deniable. Debatable. You just need to make it profitable enough for the ones involved that they don’t fix it. This is a system created collaboratively, on the fly, with the help of a lot of people from hate movements past, mostly by throwing a ton of shit at the wall and seeing what sticks. The Alt-Right is a rapidly-mutating virus and the web is the perfect incubator; it very quickly finds a structure that works, and it’s a structure we’ve seen before, just a little weirder this time.

I’ve started calling this Stochastic Totalism.

Now, again, I’m not a professional researcher; I do my homework but I don’t have the background. I have an art degree. This isn’t something I can prove so much as a way I’ve come to look at the Alt-Right that makes sense to me and helps me understand them. And I got a lot of comments on my last video from people who used to be Alt-Right that echoed my assumptions. But don’t take it as gospel.

Mostly I wanted to share this because, if it can help you make sense of what we’re dealing with, I think it’s worth putting out there.

Thank you.

#video essay

484 notes · View notes